


Action & Reaction

by Jo (jmathieson)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Eye Trauma, Friends to Lovers, Fuckbuddies, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mission Fic, Nightmares, Safe Sane and Consensual, dubiously healthy coping mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 07:17:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2499302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a rough mission, Phil realizes that Clint needs some very particular 'handling'. Through careful negotiation, Clint and Phil begin a BDSM relationship that gives Clint the release he needs. Over the course of several months and a number of intense missions, Clint and Phil go from being fuckbuddies to close friends, and eventually commit to a serious relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Go see the marvelous art by mella68 for the story [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2493812).
> 
> Many thanks to lerrdurr and amireal for being awesome betas!

Clint Barton drew another arrow, nocked it, sighted the target, and fired. The arrow thunked into the target with a sound that should have been satisfying, but that Clint could just barely hear over the blood rushing in his ears. His arms and shoulders burned. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and he blinked to clear them. In the fraction of a second that his eyes were closed, he saw the girl with a knife to her throat, and the impossible shot he made to save her while a junior agent fifty yards to her left was taking a bullet. He drew another arrow and... 

"Agent Barton, stand down." The command was barked in a tone that Phil Coulson saved for particularly thick-headed junior agents who were never going to make senior agent. Clint was lowering his bow before his brain caught up with his arms. When it did, he slammed the bow onto a table with more force than necessary, and turned angrily at the interruption.

"What are you doing Barton?" Coulson's face was its usual calm, cool mask.

If it had been anyone else, Clint would have answered 'Fuck off,' and probably followed up by throwing a punch. A fight would at least let him burn off some of the tension. But this was Coulson. He respected Coulson, and, unbelievably, Coulson seemed to respect him, too. He didn't want to fuck that up. 

"Just getting in some extra training, sir," he said.

"Extra training. We got back five hours ago from a 36-hour mission. You haven't changed, showered, or slept. You came here directly from debrief, and you've been shooting for two hours straight. You are not 'just' getting in some extra training." 

Barton leaned against the wall and crossed his arms across his chest. 

"What do you want Coulson?"

"I want you to stop damaging yourself. Go home and sleep. Or go get drunk or get laid, if that's what you need."

"You offering to be my fuckbuddy, sir?" Clint tried to say it with his usual swagger, and almost pulled it off. 

"Is that what you need, Barton? A fuckbuddy?" Coulson took a step closer. He wasn't crowding Clint, quite. He was hovering just at the edge of his personal space, and Clint was sure that it was entirely deliberate.

Clint shot a glance over Coulson's shoulder at the surveillance cameras.

"I disabled the cameras before I came down here." 

Clint was working out the implications of what exactly that might mean when Coulson spoke again, in a tone that had thick-headed junior agents cowering in the field.

"Let me see your hand."

Clint didn't move.

"Let. Me. See." Coulson shifted his weight forward, moving, just barely, into Clint's space. His voice was a low growl and there was something in his eyes that Clint had never seen before. He slowly unfolded his arms and held out his right hand. 

Coulson took it in both of his, supporting Clint's wrist with one hand and lightly running the fingers of the other over the swollen, red, blistered tips of Clint's. Coulson looked up at Clint, his eyes dark.

"You've been shooting for two hours without your glove. A fuckbuddy isn't what you need, is it? Or rather, it's not all you need." His voice was still low but somehow it was now also silky and more than a little dangerous; and he was still stroking the tips of Clint's fingers. Clint felt his dick stirring in his pants. Just from Coulson's touch, his voice, his gaze.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir." Clint fell back on playing dumb. It wasn't going to work, he knew, but it might buy him some time to figure out what the fuck was going on. He tried to pull his hand back, but Coulson's grip tightened vice-like around his wrist. 

"Don't you?" Coulson pressed hard on the sore tips of Clint's fingers, and at the same time shoved one leg forward between Clint's, thigh tight against his crotch. Clint clenched his teeth, first to bite back a yell of pain, and then to keep himself from begging Coulson to turn him around and fuck him against the wall. He couldn't prevent a low moan from escaping, and he went limp. The grip on his wrist, the steady pressure Coulson was putting on his abused fingertips, and his now rock-hard dick made Clint want a whole lot more.

Coulson released the pressure on Clint's fingers and went back to the delicate stroking.

"I can give you what you need, Clint, but only if you want me to. If you'll let me." His voice was gentle now, offering relief and comfort.

"What..." Clint shook his head, trying to clear it. He was still hard as a rock, and even though Coulson had moved his leg away and was now holding his wrist lightly, Clint couldn't have pulled away from the touch if he'd wanted to. "What is this Coulson?"

"This is me giving you an option. Offering you a better way to deal with what's in your head right now than shooting until your fingers bleed."

"Is this part of how you handle your field agents, Coulson?" Clint practically spat. "Keeping your assets happy and productive through good management of their psycho-sexual needs?" Clint used the anger at being handled, being managed, to push past his arousal. He pulled his hand out of Coulson's grip, feeling the loss of contact more keenly than he wanted to admit.

"This has nothing to do with me being your handler, Clint. This is part of who I am, but it's a part SHIELD doesn't get to have." 

"And I do?" Clint said with the contempt of disbelief.

"Only if you want it." Coulson was still offering, his voice gentle again.

"Why?"

"Because I care about you, and I hate seeing you do this to yourself. I want to help, if you'll let me." Coulson's voice was soft now, caring, and full of genuine concern. Clint had a split-second vision of Coulson—of Phil—holding him gently, afterwards, and that did more to punch through his defenses than anything else that had happened in the past few minutes.

"What exactly are you... offering?" Clint dropped his eyes to hide from the fact that he was even asking the question.

"What do you need?"

Clint couldn't answer. He wanted to, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words standing here in the SHEILD shooting range, still in his tac suit and covered with the dust and blood and sweat of a mission that had fucked him in the head. The best he could manage was to raise his right hand and waggle his red, blistered fingers.

"Pain," Coulson said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Yeah," said Clint, still looking at the floor.

"With or without sex?" This time it was a question.

"With... works better." Clint tried not to mumble, and looked up to see Coulson's reaction to that. 

Coulson simply nodded.

"I can give you that, if you want me to. If you trust me to."

Clint let out a short bark of laughter. "Shit Coulson, there's no one in the world I trust more than you." Clint saw the surprise in Coulson's eyes. "Yeah, well..." Clint shrugged. 'It is what it is,' the shrug said. "So if I say 'Yes', what..." he trailed off.

"Where do we go from here?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"We go back to my place, and we have a long, careful discussion about limits and preferences and safewords. Because that's not a conversation I'm willing to have standing in the SHEILD shooting range, even with the cameras disabled."

"What, now? Tonight?"

"Well, unless you'd rather put it off and give us time to get all nervous and awkward about it." Coulson's eyes sparkled and for a second there was a hint of a grin on his lips before his expression was sober again. "Besides, the next bad mission could be tomorrow or next week. If we're going to do this, we should talk about it as soon as possible."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Partly Clint couldn't believe this was happening, and partly he was used to letting Coulson lead, letting Coulson make the plans and tell him what to do. That felt right. It felt safe and comfortable, and right now he needed that comfort, that safety.

"Good. Go get cleaned up and change. Meet me at my office in 20 minutes. We'll pick up food on the way."

"Right." 

Coulson gave the curt little nod that he used when he was satisfied that his instructions were understood and were going to be followed, then turned and left the range. Clint shook his head, and adjusted himself in his pants. He racked his gear and headed for the showers.

~~~~~~

An hour later they were sitting on Coulson's sofa, eating Thai food out of take-out containers. While they ate, they talked about old missions, new recruits, training schedules, and whether or not Clint had any chance of getting approval from Fury to set up an outdoor sniper rage on the deck of the Helicarrier. Finally they both finished chasing the last few noodles around with their chopsticks. Coulson cleared away the debris and grabbed a yellow legal pad and a pen.

"You're gonna write this stuff down?" 

"Clint, you're putting yourself into my hands. I'm not willing to take the chance that I'm going to forget something important."

"I think you just feel more comfortable when there's paperwork involved," Clint said with his trademark smirk. 

Coulson gave Clint a disapproving stare that would have been a lot more effective if there hadn't been a quirk of a smile at the corner of his mouth that told Clint he might not be entirely wrong.

"What are your hard limits?" Coulson asked, pen poised.

"What do you mean by 'hard limits'?"

"What do you absolutely refuse to do — or have done to you?"

"Oh, right. Piss and shit; I'm totally not into that. Nothing that blocks my ears - no earplugs, nothing tied over my ears. Same thing for my eyes. No blindfolds. Ever."

"What about keeping your eyes closed?"

Clint thought for a second. "You can ask but don't order."

"Would something like this be okay?" Coulson's voice went soft, silky, cajoling and enticing, "Clint, close your eyes for me."

Clint swallowed and shifted on the sofa as his dick rose to attention. "Yeah... yeah, that's fine. Um..." he picked his train of thought back up, "No gags, nothing in my mouth."

"What about my cock?"

"Jesus, Coulson!" 

"Clint, if we're sitting on my sofa talking about whether or not you're going to suck my cock, I think I'd rather you called me Phil." Coulson grinned at him, clearly enjoying the reaction he'd provoked.

Clint laughed a hearty, tension-releasing laugh. "Yes, Phil, you can put your cock in my mouth."

"Good. What about my fingers?"

"Um, yeah, that's fine too."

"And my tongue?"

"Your..." Clint was completely unprepared for the image of Coulson—of Phil, he corrected in his head—kissing him. With tongue. He shifted on the sofa again.

"If you're not okay with kissing, that's fine."

"No, no, I'm fine with it. Totally fine. I just... I guess I didn't expect you to be." It wasn't that Clint had never thought about Coulson—Phil—in a sexual context before. His handler was good looking, in great shape, competent, and compassionate. Pretty much everything Clint wanted, to be honest. So yeah, there'd been a few times when he'd speculated about the possibility of post-mission, adrenalin-high, yay-we're-not-dead sex with Coulson in a safe house. But the images had all been of quick and dirty blow jobs, or, occasionally, Phil banging Clint over his desk. Kissing had never even crossed Clint's mind. 

"What else don't you want?"

"Um," Clint dragged his mind back to Phil's questions, and thought for a minute. "I'm not into costumes or role-playing. That's not at all what I need."

"What you need is less mental, more physical?" Phil said.

"Yeah, that's a good way to put it. I need to clear out the stuff in my head, and focusing on the physical - being forced to focus on the physical - is the best way to do that." 

Phil nodded, and for the first time in his life, Clint felt that someone actually understood where he was coming from about this kind of stuff. The relief of it was like putting down a weight he didn't realize he'd been carrying.

"Anything else?" 

"Um... I think that's it. I mean that's all I can think of right now, there's probably other stuff you should ask me."

"Let me tell you my hard limits first." Phil put his pen down and shifted slightly on the sofa, and something about his posture made Clint suddenly realize how very seriously Phil was about this.

"Nothing you've already ruled out is a problem for me, by the way. I'm with you on the piss and shit, also, I don't do enema play."

"No problem."

"No electricity. I've rescued too many prisoners hooked up to a car battery," Phil said, his voice tight. 

Clint nodded his understanding. 

"No alcohol or drugs - that includes poppers."

"Never needed 'em." Clint's smirk was firmly back in place. 

"I'm not willing to have anyone else involved, male or female, this is just you and me."

"Sure." Clint felt a little flutter in his chest. Something about the way Phil said 'you and me' made it feel... meaningful.

"Okay, I've got a couple of questions. How do you feel about toys?"

"Dildos and butt plugs and stuff, you mean?" Clint asked. 

Coulson nodded. 

"Totally a 'yes', and I like them big." 

Coulson made a note on his legal pad but couldn't actually manage to keep a straight face while doing it. He looked up to see Clint grinning at him, and he smiled back for a minute before schooling his face. "To what extent are you okay with me leaving marks? Scratches, bruises, bite marks, that sort of thing?" Phil asked.

"No problem at all. Hell, you know what we look like after a mission sometimes. Some extra scratches and bruises are fine."

"What about breathplay?"

"Um..."

"It's okay to say 'no' Clint," Phil said gently.

"It's not that. I've... I've never done this with anybody I trusted enough to try it."

"We'll leave that in the 'maybe' column for now, then, which means it won't happen without us discussing it further. Now, tell me what you like."

Clint grinned, and without hesitation a practiced answer rolled off his tongue. "Tie me down, turn me on, hurt me bad, fuck me hard."

"What kind of bondage do you like?"

"No preference. Anything from a simple pair of handcuffs to that fancy Japanese rope stuff is fine with me."

"So it's the fact that you're restrained that's important." Phil was looking at him intently, and Clint was again overwhelmed with the relief that someone actually understood. He played before, with a number of different people, but none of them had ever taken the time to talk it out like this.

Clint nodded, "Yeah, I need to... be forced to let it happen. But physically forced, I mean - I don't like being ordered to do stuff." 

"Again, the physical rather than the mental. Got it. What's your safeword?" Phil's pen was poised.

"Um... you're not Catholic by any chance, are you?" 

"No, I was raised Presbyterian, but it didn't really stick. Why?" 

"My safeword is 'Sebastian'. A Catholic boy I picked up once got really mad at me when I told him why. Sebastian is the patron saint of archers. Apparently tying me up and fucking me was okay, but using a saint's name as a safeword was disrespectful or something..."

"Sebastian." Phil wrote it down. "Do you have any questions? Anything else you want to discuss?"

"Um..." Clint paused, and thought hard for a minute, "there is one thing, but I'm not sure... it's kinda personal."

"Clint, you can ask me anything about this, anything at all, no matter what it is. I want you to."

"Okay, um... what do you get out of it?" 

Phil smiled, put his pad and pen down on the coffee table, then sat back more comfortably on the sofa. He stretched one arm out along the back, and Clint wondered if Phil was subconsciously reaching out to him. 

"That's a difficult question to answer, but I'll give it my best shot. So, you know I'm a bit of a control freak."

Clint snorted.

"Yes, well. It's partly an extension of that aspect of my personality, being in control—topping—makes me feel safe and comfortable."

"The way being tied up does for me," Clint said, nodding his understanding.

"Yes. But there's more to it than that. I'm not going to pretend that I'm not at least partially a sadist. Causing pain, seeing the marks I make on someone's skin. Hearing the noises they make while I'm hurting them, it does something to me. Something for me." Phil's face went pink, but his voice remained steady and he didn't look away. Clint was impressed with his bravery. He was also extremely aroused by the things Phil was describing.

"But that's not all of it either. When someone... when you choose to put yourself into my hands, it implies an enormous amount of trust and responsibility. I want to be worthy of that responsibility, of that trust."

"Phil - " Clint tried to interrupt but Phil forestalled him, anticipating what he was about to say.

"I know you already trust me, trust me to have your back on a mission, trust me with your life, even. But this is different. Deeper. That you trust me to take you where you need to go, and keep you safe while I do, that's..." Phil's voice faltered.

"I won't freak out if you use the 'L' word." It was Clint's turn to anticipate.

"Yes." Phil smiled, "Love. But not the hearts and flowers kind, the 'I'd do anything for you' kind. That's what I get out of it. Well, that and that fact that I get to fuck you. You're kind of hot." 

Clint's brain was trying to figure out if he should be flattered or insulted, but his dick had already reacted to the mental image of being fucked by Phil, and he was rock hard and aching. Clint tried not to be too obvious about the way he shifted on the sofa, trying to find a more comfortable position. But Phil knew exactly what he was doing and why he was doing it. That only made Clint harder.

"There's something else I'd like to ask?" Phil said, more hesitant than he'd been with his earlier questions.

"At this point, how could I say no?"

"Always, Clint. You can always say no. That's part of the trust I need from you. I have to be absolutely sure that you'll say 'no' when you need to."

"I will. Promise. Ask me."

"Will you let me take care of you, afterwards?" Clint heard the hope in Phil's voice and saw the gentleness in his eyes. Clint understood what he was asking; Phil knew him well enough to have figured out that he would resist traditional 'aftercare' at the end of a scene. Clint thought back to that afternoon at the range, when he'd had a brief vision of Phil holding him gently, and it had punched through his defenses.

"Yes," Clint said, and his voice broke on the single syllable.

"Do you love the idea or hate the idea?" Phil asked.

"I hate how much I love the idea," Clint answered, and Phil simply nodded, as if Clint's words made perfect sense to him. Which maybe they did.

"Okay, I have one last thing I want to ask you. And I need you to know that it's not a deal breaker. If you say 'no' we'll still do this." Phil said, gesturing at his notes. "I'd just prefer it... I'd like us to have sex first. Regular, vanilla sex, I mean." 

Clint's felt like the proverbial deer in the headlights. He tried in vain to open his mouth to say something, but he was frozen in shock. Phil seemed to take his lack of response as a request for further explanation.

"I can do better for you if I know your body, your responses; how sensitive your nipples are, how you like your balls played with, that sort of thing..." Phil trailed off, and Clint let out a whimper.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Phil. You're killing me here. I've been mostly-hard all the time we've been talking, thinking about you doing all this stuff to me, and now, you go and say that and my dick could drive nails. Christ. Yes, by the way, absolutely 'Yes,' and I hope to God you mean tonight, now, or I just might have to strangle you."

"Now's good." Phil grinned at him.

Clint surged forward and Phil suddenly had his arms full of very horny archer.

"Hi," Clint said, "Are you happy to see me, or do I need to give you a minute to secure your sidearm?"

Phil didn't respond to the bad joke but simply smiled, holding Clint loosely and not making any other move. Clint realized that Phil was handing over control to him, and he almost laughed at how very Coulson-like the gesture was. Phil was going to be in charge of their next encounter, so it was only fair that he let Clint lead this time.

"So," said Clint, "that thing we were talking about earlier."

"Which thing, exactly? We discussed quite a few 'things'."

"We did, didn't we? And all of them made me very horny. But I'm thinking about when we were discussing you sticking your tongue in my mouth." Up to this point, Clint has been his usual, confident, cocky self. But now faced with the reality of being entwined with Phil, and asking for something that he suddenly wanted so very badly... Abruptly all the cockiness left him and he looked down shyly.

"It's been kind of a long time since someone I liked kissed me," he said quietly, looking back up into Phil's eyes.

Phil smiled, but he didn't kiss Clint immediately. Instead he raised a hand from where it had been resting on Clint's waist, and he laid it on Clint's cheek, along his jaw.

"Is this okay?" Phil asked.

"Yes," Clint said on a soft breath.

Phil spent another few seconds staring into his eyes, and then leaned forward, and kissed him, pressing a slightly open mouth to Clint's, waiting for an invitation. Clint kissed back enthusiastically. Something, whether the fact that he'd known Phil for years; or the fact that they'd just finished negotiating kinky sex; or the fact that they both knew exactly where this was going — something made it easy and comfortable, the way kissing someone for the first time usually wasn't. 

Phil's hand slid from his jaw to the back of his neck, and Clint would have gasped, had his mouth not been already otherwise occupied. As it was, he arched forward and two hard cocks bumped. Clint resisted the urge to rut against Phil. No matter how turned on he was, he did not want to come in his pants on the sofa like a teenager, not when there was a perfectly good bed just a few feet away. Clint broke the kiss. 

"Too many clothes" He started to unbutton Phil's shirt. 

"Can't disagree with you there," Phil said, and he occupied his hands with tugging Clint's t-shirt out of his jeans. Clint took a breath and backed off just enough to make room. He wondered where the hell he was finding the self-control to be this patient, and he decided it must be because Phil had made it clear that the ball was in his court.

Clint finished unbuttoning Phil's shirt and started tugging the shirttails out of Phil's waistband. Phil sucked in his stomach to help, and Clint's attention was drawn to the well-defined muscles that Phil kept hidden under his dress shirts and tailored suits. Phil might be mostly a desk jockey these days, but Clint had seen him in the SHEILD gym, working out or sparring with Jasper Sitwell or some of the too-cocky baby agents. Clint was looking forward to feeling those muscles in action. He pushed the shirt off his shoulders and ran his hands up Phil's chest, from ribs to collar bone. He was rewarded with a quiet gasp that threatened to turn into a moan.

"Fair's fair," said Phil. He had tugged Clint's t-shirt out of his jeans and was reaching to pull it over Clint's head.

"Here, let me." Clint stripped off his shirt, and then saw the expression of open appreciation on Phil's face.

"It's nothing you haven't seen before," he said, trying not to blush under Phil's frankly appraising gaze.

"Yes, but this time I get to touch," Phil said, and raised his hands, slowly, giving Clint the chance to refuse or deflect. Clint did neither; Phil's phrase from earlier, 'find out how sensitive our nipples are' was ringing in his ears.

Sure enough, Phil splayed his fingers out along Clint's collarbones and then dragged them slowly down his chest, fingertips grazing Clint's nipples as he did.

Clint tried, unsuccessfully, to bite off the quiet moan that escaped his lips.

"Just so you know," Phil said, his fingers dancing across Clint's taut abs, "I'm happy for us to move this to the bedroom any time."

"You're just full of good ideas tonight, aren't you? Yeah. Let's do that."

Clint pushed got up off the couch and ran a hand through his hair, trying to regain some equilibrium — a challenge when his dick was still rock hard and he was about to follow Phil into his bedroom. Phil watched Clint's gesture with obvious lust in his eyes.

"Christ Phil, if I'd known you were into me, I would have asked you out ages ago."

"Really?"

"Yeah, sure."

"I just assumed you wouldn't be interested. I mean, it's not like I'm, well... you know."

Clint reached out, grabbed Phil by the belt, and pulled him close.

"No. I don't know. Phil, you are handsome and very sexy." Clint kissed him, mouth open, hot and wet and wanting, showing Phil just how much he meant those words. "Bedroom," he said when they parted, both panting for breath.

"This way."

While Phil got condoms and lube out of the bedside drawer, Clint stripped, piling his clothes on a nearby chair. Phil turned around and let out a low whistle. 

"Stop that. You're going to make me blush," Clint said.

"Sorry," Phil said, grinning as he unbuckled his belt and not looking sorry at all.

Clint climbed onto the bed and Phil joined him a minute later.

"What was it you wanted to do, again? I seem to remember there was something about my nipples, and something about my balls..."

"Oh, I want to get my hands on every part of this gorgeous body of yours," said Phil, stretching out and settling next to Clint. Phil rested light fingertips on Clint's hip and then trailed them slowly up across stomach and chest, brushing nipples and pausing to stroke along his collarbone before sweeping slowly back down. "I want to learn just how to touch you, how to make you shiver and gasp and moan. Where your little sensitive spots are, so that I can use them to drive you crazy." Phil's nimble fingers roamed Clint's skin, as he watched the reactions. 

"So," said Clint after a few minutes between gasps and moans, as Phil stroked his balls and tweaked his nipples and let his fingers dance across every bit of skin in between. "What's on the table here; are you going to drive me crazy then fuck me?"

Phil lay next to Clint and propped himself up on one elbow. "I could do that, if that's what you want. Or I could blow you. Or you could fuck me, if you'd like?"

Clint's eyes went wide at that. "You'd let me?"

"I don't have any hang-ups about bottoming. When we do a scene I'll be in charge, but this is meant to be a nice comfortable 'get-to-know-you' fuck, so whatever you want is fine with me."

"I can't believe that Phil Coulson just said the words, 'comfortable get-to-know-you fuck'."

"Then I guess it's really gonna blow your mind when I tie you down and stick a vibrator up your ass." Phil said with a wicked grin.

Clint figured that the best way to shut Phil up was to kiss him again, so he did.

"So, have you decided what you want?" Phil asked the next time they came up for air.

Clint shook his head. He'd forgotten that he was supposed to be making a decision.

"In that case, do you mind if I distract myself while you think about it?" Phil's fingers started dancing across Clint's chest again as he spoke, making it perfectly clear what he meant by 'distract'.

"Knock yourself out," said Clint, and lay back, determined this time to make a decision. There was no question that he wanted Phil to fuck him. Just thinking about Phil on top of him, buried inside him, fucking him fast and hard until he lost it and came... Yeah, he wanted that all right. But the image of Phil on his knees, or stretched out between his legs. The idea that perfectly proper Phil Coulson was willing to suck his dick... that was so very, very tempting. And could Phil have really, seriously meant it when he said he'd let Clint fuck him? That was something that Clint was having trouble grasping, because that felt like more than just sex. Somehow, the fact that Phil was willing to take Clint's dick up his ass... Clint thought back to the discussion on the sofa. 'Trust and love — not the hearts and flowers kind.' Yeah, that's what it was about. Phil was willing to trust him completely, because he was willing to trust Phil completely. With everything. 

Phil had his lips on one of Clint's nipples and was driving him crazy. He moaned and moved a hand to cradle to back of Phil's head. Phil raised his eyes.

"Did you really mean it, you'd let me fuck you?" Clint asked.

Phil released Clint's nipple but gave it one last long lick before propping himself up on his elbow. "Yes. I meant it. Is that what you want?"

"Yeah. I want to fuck you Phil."

"Okay then, I'm all yours." Phil rolled over onto his back and let his limbs and body fall into an open, relaxed state that told Clint just how much Phil trusted him. 

"Jesus," Clint breathed as he took in Phil's form spread out in front of him. Phil was in excellent shape, muscles apparent on his well-defined, wiry body. Clint's sharp eyes catalogued the marks and scars. A small rectangular tattoo on his left forearm, just below the elbow, the Army Rangers shoulder flash in black ink. A bright puckered white scar on his right calf. Several long slices along his ribs. 'Knife fight, thin blade,' Clint diagnosed.

"I'm not so much to look at," Phil said with a wry smile.

"I... I think you're gorgeous," Clint said, with a small shake of his head. He laid one hand on Phil's thigh and rubbed lightly up towards his groin to cup his balls. 

"Hmmm. Nice," Phil said, letting his eyes fall half-closed.

"Good. Tell me what you like. I want to make it good for you."

"It's been a while, so go slow at first. I like it hard and fast once you're in though."

"Good. Gonna pound you good, Phil," Clint said, letting his fingers explore behind Phil's ballsack and delve between his asscheeks. 

"Lube and condoms on the nightstand," Phil said in a breathy voice. 

Clint dropped the supplies on the bed near to hand and spent some time exploring Phil's abs with his lips and his balls with the long, slim fingers of one hand before flipping the cap on the lube and squeezing out a generous amount. 

'Go slow at first,' Phil had said, and that was totally fine with Clint. He licked and sucked and kissed Phil's taut stomach while he slowly massaged the lube into the tight ring of muscle between his cheeks. He waited until Phil was making small movements with his hips, chasing more, before he dipped in carefully with two fingertips pressed tightly together. 

"That okay?" Clint asked as Phil let out a small sound.

"It's good. Really good. It's been a long time."

"Why's that?" Clint figured Phil could answer him, or tell him that it was none of his business.

"I usually top. And I don't let anyone I don't trust fuck me, ever. It's been a long time since I was with anyone long enough to learn to trust them."

"You really do trust me?" Clint was still having trouble getting his head around the idea.

"Of course I do. You wouldn't be in my bed if I didn't." Phil was breathing heavily and it made his words come out haltingly. It was the sexiest thing Clint had ever heard, and he wanted to make Phil to keep talking.

"Would I be in your apartment?"

"No. When I came to find you at the range today," Phil gasped as Clint added a third finger to the two that were gently working his ass, then blew out a long breath before he started speaking again. "I knew what I was going to say. Going to offer you. I wouldn't make that offer to someone I didn't trust. Someone I didn't care about. This isn't just fun and games for me." 

Clint felt that flutter in his chest again. He was used to keeping the world at arm's length and people treating him the same way. He liked and respected Phil. His handler had always been straight with him, backed up his calls, and trusted him out in the field, of course, but this was about something else, something more. And though Phil had talked about it earlier when they were negotiating on the sofa, hearing him say it again now, when he was naked and vulnerable in bed, was affecting both Clint's heart and his dick. He eased his fingers out of Phil's ass and crawled up his body so that he could look down into Phil's eyes.

Words had never been Clint's strong suit; he tended to let his actions speak for him. So he kissed Phil deeply before pulling back and saying simply, "Thank you." Then kissed him again before asking, "Ready?"

Phil nodded, so Clint found the condoms and put one on, then slicked himself up. He slid a powerful arm under one of Phil's thighs to hold it and positioned himself. He didn't say anything else, but Clint looked Phil straight in the eye as he pushed in, slowly but steadily, watching carefully for any sign that Phil needed him to stop. 

"That's good," Phil said softly. "So good."

"I'm glad. I want to make you feel good. I want to rock your world."

"C'mere." Phil slid a hand around the back of Clint's neck and pulled him down for another kiss. It was hot and wet and deep and very, very good. They were starting to fall into a rhythm together, an easy give-and-take that benefited, no doubt, from their years of working together in the field. Phil had learned some of what Clint liked earlier, and he put it into practice now, scratching lightly down Clint's spine with blunt fingernails. 

Sure enough Clint shivered and moaned. He hadn't moved yet, he was giving Phil time to adjust, and, to be honest, he was enjoying the moment; being buried deep in Phil's tight ass, holding him close, looking into his eyes, and kissing him. 

"You like kissing." Phil said, when they parted for breath. It was a statement, not a question.

"Yeah. I, uh, probably have a bit of an oral thing. I like sucking cock, too. Love it, actually, so if you ever want a blowjob, just ask. I'd be happy to."

"I'll keep that in mind," Phil said with a perfectly straight face that hid his trademark deadpan humor. But Clint had known him too long to be fooled, and so chose that moment to give a sharp little thrust of his hips. It drew a gasp and then a grin from Phil.

“Come on then, Barton, show me what you’ve got.” 

Clint grinned back, hitched Phil’s thigh up just a bit higher, drew partway out, and then thrust back in hard.

Phil groaned.

“You like that?” Clint asked 

“Fuck yes. Come on, give it to me.” Having Phil Coulson under him, almost, but not quite begging for it was driving Clint wild. He let himself go, setting a hard, fast rhythm, pounding his cock into Phil’s ass to the sound of loud moans from both of them. Clint was getting closer and closer to the edge with every stroke, but he wanted Phil to come. He wanted to make Phil come — to see Phil come.

“What do… you need?” he gasped out between powerful thrusts of his hips.

“Your hand. Tight. Real tight,” Phil said, panting for breath.

Clint planted his knees more firmly on the mattress for balance and continued to thrust as he wrapped the fingers of one hand tightly around Phil’s dick. 

“Like that?”

“God. Yes. Fuck. Hard. Fuck me hard.” 

Clint pounded hard and stroked Phil in a tight fist. He felt Phil’s ass clench around him and Phil’s body arch up under him as his eyes snapped shut and he cried out in a single long drawn-out syllable. Three more sharp little thrusts fucking Phil through his climax, and Clint was coming too, with a low rumbling moan.

Clint released Phil’s leg and collapsed on top of him, chest heaving. For long minutes, his mind was completely blank, still buzzing with the white sparks of a fantastic orgasm. When he stirred, he felt one of Phil’s arms circling his back.

“Am I too heavy?” he asked, hoping he wouldn’t have to move quite yet.

“No. You’re fine. Feels good.”

“Yeah.” Clint dropped his head onto Phil’s shoulder and said into the side of his neck, “That was fantastic. Thank you.”

“You did all the work. I loved it. Thank you.”

Clint hummed contentedly and kissed the patch of skin beneath his lips. The tension from the fucked-up mission was gone, replaced with a sense of safety and comfort that Clint hadn't felt in a long, long time. He wanted to stay like this forever, but the sweat on his skin was starting to give him a chill, so reluctantly, he levered himself up.

“Need to go clean up,” he said, his voice wavering uncertainly as he wondered whether he should take his pants with him to the bathroom.

“Stay the night?” Phil’s eyes were guarded, and his tone was neutral as he made the offer.

“You want me to?”

“I’d like it if you did, but only if you want to.” Phil sounded sincere, and Clint was reminded of the times that his handler had let him make his own decisions in the field. There was the same feeling of mutual trust and respect. Clint liked that, and the idea of staying the night.

“Yeah, that’d be… I’d like that.” 

Once they’d both cleaned up and climbed back into bed, Clint said, “Um… I get kinda… clingy in my sleep sometimes, so if I’m crowding you in the middle of the night, just elbow me in the ribs or give me a good shove or something.”

“I don’t mind being crowded. Makes a nice change from sleeping alone.”

“Okay, then. So you don’t mind if I, uh…” Clint inched closer to Phil and draped an arm across his back. 

“I don’t mind at all.” 

“Cool. G’night Phil.”

“Goodnight, Clint.”


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning was a lot less awkward than it could have otherwise been, thanks to the fact that Clint and Phil had shared hotel rooms and safehouses more times than either of them could remember. They worked easily around each other as they went through their respective morning routines: Phil showering first because it took him longer to dress, and Clint putting the coffee on while Phil was in the shower.

When Clint came back into the bedroom in search of his pants, he found that Phil had not only made the bed, but he had picked Clint’s clothes up off the floor and left them, along with a clean t-shirt, on the bed for him. It was an old, grey SHEILD-issue shirt. Clint had half-a-dozen just like it and two pairs of matching sweatpants in his own closet. Clint grinned as he pulled it on and bundled the shirt he’d worn yesterday and his underwear into a ball. He could go commando as far as Headquarters. 

Phil came in with a cup of coffee in each hand and saw Clint holding the ball of t-shirt.

“You can just toss that in the hamper. I’ll wash it with my stuff, and it’ll be here for next time you come over.”

“You don’t have to…” Clint felt awkward about letting Phil do his laundry, but on the other hand, he didn’t particularly want to carry the bundle to work with him.

“It’s no trouble,” Phil said, putting the coffee down on the dresser and turning to leave the room.

“Yeah, okay then. Thanks,” Clint said to Phil’s back. 

They walked to work together, stopping at Phil’s favorite coffee shop on the way for danishes. Munching on pastry for the rest of the walk prevented an awkward silence. 

Clint had had hook-ups before, both inside and outside SHIELD, but this was different because he and Phil (sometime last night, when Clint had his dick buried in Phil’s ass, he’d completely ceased to be ‘Coulson’ in Clint’s head) worked together. Phil was, in the ways that mattered, his boss. When Phil had come to the range yesterday and made the offer of something Clint so desperately wanted, he had said ‘yes’ without thinking things through. And when Phil had proposed sex last night, saying ‘no’ hadn’t even crossed Clint’s mind. But now, he wondered if he had gotten himself into something that he was going to regret. It wouldn't be the first time.

He liked Phil. They were, if not friends, at least friendly, as colleagues. They’d fought together and bled together and saved each other’s lives. Clint didn’t want that part of their relationship to change. He finished his mouthful and glanced sideways at the man walking next to him in a pristine, tailored suit. And he grinned.

This was Coulson. Phil Coulson – the man who’d pulled his ass out of the fire more times than he could count. The man who let him pick his own perches. The man who’d come back for him when he was captured (twice). The man who had his back, always, no matter what. He trusted Phil with his life, and he trusted Phil with this, too. It was going to be fine.

They parted in the lobby, with Phil heading towards his office, and Clint heading to his locker for some spare underwear and to change into his training gear.

“See you around, Coulson,” Clint said with a grin.

“Barton,” Phil simply nodded at him, but his eyes were twinkling.

After that they fell back into their old routine, more or less. Things were somewhat different between them though—easier, more comfortable. Having seen Phil naked, having been balls deep in his ass, having slept with him after, safe and warm in Phil’s own bed, there was a familiarity now. Clint found himself dropping his guard around Phil, and Phil joked with him more, sharing a sardonic look or his dry wit and a ghost of a smile. They acted less like co-workers and more like… friends. It was nice.

Just over a month later they suited up and headed out for a mission in… some town on the border between Romania and Serbia whose name Clint had given up trying to pronounce properly. 

To say the mission was a cluster fuck would be generous. Their intelligence was faulty, but it took them two days to figure that out because one of their local contacts disappeared. To make matters worse, Melendez, the SHIELD agent who had local language and background came down with food poisoning the day after they landed. Normally, Coulson would have scrubbed the mission at that point, but they got reasonably good intel from their remaining contact that a HYDRA-funded arms deal was about to go down. Coulson dispatched Natasha to check out the lead and sent Clint scouting for a perch from which to observe, and potentially disrupt the deal. 

Natasha came back with news that the deal was a set-up, and they were being hunted. And again, the mission would have been scrubbed if it weren’t for the fact that Natasha had also discovered that their original contact was being held captive.

“He knew the risks,” Nat argued.

“It’s our responsibility,” Phil said.

“I’ll go,” Clint offered.

“You’ll go with Romanov and Diaz and Tan. Romanov, brief them on everything you saw.” Coulson got on the radio to report and organize their extraction. 

The four highly trained, experienced SHIELD agents raided the farmhouse that the small HYDRA cell was using for a base. But they were made on their way in, and had to fight their way to the cellar where their contact was being held. 

They were too late. Clint heard the shot as he vaulted down the stairs, arrow nocked. It pierced the throat of the man who had just put a bullet through the head of their contact. Clint turned and threw up in a corner when he saw the man’s face: he’d been blinded. Messily. Torture or to prevent him from identifying his captors, they would never know.

“We should take the body back with us, he’ll have a family, or at least friends. Someone to bury him properly,” Diaz said.

Clint nodded. He put his bow over one shoulder and the dead man over the other. Tan was limping from a knife wound to his leg, and Diaz was 5’1”. 

“Cover us,” Clint said to Natasha, his eyes cold and hard.

They stayed cold and hard while they made it back to the safehouse. While Natasha gave Coulson a terse mission report. While Clint said, “We were too late,” and covered the body he’d been carrying with a blanket. While he helped Diaz patch up Tan’s leg, and then helped both Tan and the Melendez onto the Quinjet. 

Clint's eyes stayed cold and hard, staring at the rivets in the metal strut of the Quinjet until exhaustion took over, and they started to close. And then snapped back open when what he saw instead was their contact’s face, and his empty, blood-crusted eye sockets. Clint clenched his fists on his thighs, digging his fingernails into his palms. 

A few minutes later, he saw Coulson glance up from the sheaf of papers in his hand, and their eyes locked. Clint didn’t know what Coulson was seeing, but Coulson glanced down at Clint’s clenched fists, and then back up into his eyes. He raised an eyebrow. Clint gave a small shrug. Coulson nodded a fraction. Ten minutes later, after having gone forward to talk to the pilot, Coulson sat down next to him on the uncomfortable metal bench. Close enough that their thighs were touching. Clint turned his head to look at Coulson. His eyes were deep with compassion and understanding. Clint nodded. Coulson nodded back. Clint shifted a fraction so that their shoulders were touching as well. Coulson went back to his paperwork. Clint tipped his head back and closed his eyes, and this time saw only darkness for the few seconds before he fell asleep. 

He roused a few hours later when Coulson said in his ear, “We’ll be landing soon.”

Clint rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, nodded, and then tried very hard to ignore the feeling of loss when Coulson got up to check on the rest of the team before landing, and then strapped himself in near Melendez, who had finally stopped barfing, but still looked pretty green. 

Clint helped Tan off the jet. 

On the landing pad, Coulson said, “Tan and Melendez to Medical. Everyone else, rack your gear, shower, and go home and get some sleep. We’ll debrief tomorrow at thirteen-hundred. Barton, you’re with me.”

As the team dispersed, Nat gave Clint a pointed glance that passed, for her, as a worried look. Clint shot back a tired grin and a nod that said, ‘Everything’s okay,’ and turned to follow Coulson.

They walked in silence, shoulder-to-shoulder, to Phil’s office. Once the door was firmly closed behind them, Phil turned to Clint.

“Do you want to come home with me tonight, for… what we discussed a month ago?”

“If you… yes please.” Clint was tired and sore, yet he knew that peaceful sleep was a million miles away without what Phil was offering him.

“Will you be okay for a couple of hours? There’s some paperwork I want to do before we leave.”

“Sure. Yeah, I’ll… I’ll be fine.” Clint glanced around Phil's office, then at the door, trying to figure out what to do for the next two hours.

“Go take a shower and change. Get something to eat. Then you can come back here, if you want to.”

“If it won’t disturb you…” Clint tried to keep the desperate gratitude out of his voice. Just being in the same room as Phil was all that was keeping him grounded right now, and Phil seemed to know it.

“It won’t. Come back here whenever you like. I’ll try to finish up as quickly as I can, and then we’ll head home.”

“I…” Clint didn’t actually know what he wanted to say. “Thanks.”

Coulson nodded and sat down behind his desk. Clint went to shower. Twenty minutes later, dressed in old faded jeans and a long-sleeved grey Henley, Clint knocked lightly on Phil’s office door with his elbow.

“Come,” Phil called.

“I, uh, thought you might be hungry,” said Clint, moving towards Phil’s desk with a cup of coffee in one hand and a piece of pie from the cafeteria in the other.

“Thank you, Clint.” Phil looked up with a grateful smile, then checked the clock in the corner of his computer monitor. “I should be ready to go in about 20 minutes, half-an-hour tops.”

“Take your time. I’m okay.” Clint flopped down on the sofa in Phil’s office. He was telling the truth. He’d showered and eaten, and he knew that Phil was going to take care of him. He was okay.

~~~~~~

An hour later Clint was standing naked in Phil’s bedroom, watching as Phil folded an extra-large bath towel over the back of an upholstered wing chair. On the seat of the chair (which was covered with more towels) were a set of leather cuffs, some lengths of rope, a large butt plug and various other toys, a bottle of lube, and condoms. Clint licked his lips in anticipation, and his dick rose to half-mast.

“I want your shoulders here,” Phil said, patting the wide top of the chair's back. 

Clint took a step and leaned forward so that his chin was hooked over the back of the chair. 

“Forward just touch more,” Phil put his hands on Clint’s shoulders and adjusted his position so that his collarbone and the top of his shoulders were fully supported and his arms hung down along either side of the chair’s curved, padded back. “How does that feel?” Phil asked.

“Fine.”

“Will you be okay in that position for a while?” 

Clint flexed his neck and rotated his head left and right before answering, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I’m going to tie you down now. I won’t leave the room while you’re tied.”

“Sure.”

Phil buckled the leather cuffs around Clint’s wrists; then tied his arms to the chair by the expedient method of running a length of rope from a D-ring on the cuff to the leg of the chair and tying it off.

“How’s that?” Phil asked when he’d finished tying both of Clint’s arms.

“Good. It’s good.” Clint appreciated Phil’s choice. He felt restrained. Between the position he was in, legs spread and bent at the waist, and the taut pull in his arms and shoulders, it was exactly what he needed. But he also knew he could get out of the restraints in five seconds or less if he needed to, for any reason. 

"Ready to start?"

"Yeah, go for it."

"Okay." Phil positioned himself directly behind Clint, so close that the jeans he had changed into brushed the back of Clint's thighs. When he'd originally asked Clint what he needed, the answer had come easily: 'Tie me down, turn me on, hurt me bad, fuck me hard.' Phil reached around to Clint's chest and rubbed his palms across Clint's pecs a couple of times before taking the small peaked nipples between his fingers and rubbing and pinching them.

Clint gasped.

"Make all the noise you want," Phil said and pinched harder.

Clint swore.

"I'm going to have you screaming by the time I'm done with you," Phil said, his tone low and dangerous.

"Oh yeah? Well get on with it, then." 

That bit of snark got Clint a particularly sharp pinch on both nipples, then one of Phil's hands moved to cup his balls. Clint tensed, but all Phil did was roll the sac in his hand for a minute, before starting to scratch lightly at the soft, sensitive skin. 

Clint moaned.

"You like that?"

"Fuck, yeah."

Phil scratched harder, and Clint moaned louder. Phil gave each nipple one last pinch and then moved his hand to Clint's hardening dick. Instead of stroking it, he ran one blunt thumbnail up the underside from base to tip. 

"Fuck. Phil. Fuck that's good."

"Good," said Phil, his voice so low and gravelly that Clint barely recognized it. Phil continued to scratch at Clint's dick and balls with blunt fingernails until he was moaning and squirming. He ran his hands up Clint's taut abs and chest back to his nipples, rubbing and pinching them some more, at the same time grinding a hard, denim-covered cock into Clint's ass.

"Fuck. Phil, fuck." 

"Are you ready for the next part?" Phil asked, almost purring.

"Fuck yes."

"Good." 

Clint expected Phil to step away and pick up a flogger or slapper, but all he did was move his hands from Clint's chest to his back. Phil lay his palms flat on Clint's back and rubbed up and down with firm, steady pressure, moving his hands just enough to rub the entire surface of Clint's back. It wasn't a massage; Phil just rubbed, creating a warm, tingly friction.

It was... interesting, but it wasn't really doing anything for Clint. He was about to open his mouth to say so when Phil curled his fingers and dragged blunt fingernails down the length of Clint's back. Clint hissed sharply. Phil stopped at the base of Clint's spine, took his hands off Clint's back, and waited a beat. The he put his nails back on Clint's skin, at the top of his shoulders, and dragged them down again. Clint didn't make any noise this time, but he tensed, trying to hold himself still.

"You can squirm if you want to."

"Not sure if I do or not," Clint said, blowing out a breath as Phil's nails reached his tailbone and lifted to move back to his shoulders. And scraped downwards again. And again. And again. Clint squirmed and hissed and began to breathe heavily under the onslaught of Phil's nails. Clint could imagine the red trails they were leaving on his back. It hurt far more than such a simple thing should. It felt fantastic.

Clint couldn't tell if Phil was starting to scratch harder, using more pressure, or if his skin was simply becoming so sensitive that now every touch sparked abused nerve endings. He almost sighed with relief when Phil stopped scratching and laid his hands flat on Clint's shoulder blades, but then he went back to rubbing, with firm, broad strokes of his palms, and Clint yelled.

"Jesus, fuck!"

"Are you okay?" Phil asked, not pausing the rubbing.

"Yeah. Shit. Am I gonna have any skin left when you're done?"

"I haven't drawn blood," Phil said mildly.

"No, that's not... It just... it's way more intense than I was expecting from, something so, well, tame."

"Hmmm." Phil made a noise to indicate he'd heard, but otherwise didn't comment.

He continued to rub for another minute, and then moved his hands around to Clint's sides. Clint's relief was momentary because Phil went for his nipples again, rubbing and pinching and twisting them. 

"Nipple clamps, yes or no?" Phil asked, pinching Clint's nipples hard and holding them while he waited for an answer.

"Yeah. Yeah, that'd be fine. Good even. Go for it."

Phil kept one hand on Clint's shoulder while he moved off to the side so that he could reach the nipple clamps that he'd left on the seat of the armchair. They were barrel-style, with a heavy chain between them. Phil applied one, then the other. He paused with his hands on Clint's sides.

"Are they okay?" 

"Yeah." Clint gasped in a breath. "Yeah, they're good."

Without any warning, Phil dragged his nails down Clint's back again. Clint howled. Phil did it again. The pain was incredible. It felt like his back was on fire. Every pass of his fingernails seemed to carve deep gashes on Clint's back, as if Phil had claws or talons rather than the smooth, blunt, well-trimmed fingernails that Clint had spent more than a few meetings staring at. Clint squirmed some more, but now it made the heavy chain between the nipple clamps swing, and the pull on his nipples made him gasp and moan. Clint felt a touch on his balls and realized that Phil had moved one hand down to scratch lightly at the sensitive skin of his sac. The other hand was still raking trails of fire down his back, and he was caught between pain and arousal, his entire being consumed by pure sensation. It was exactly what he needed.

Clint had no idea how much time passed, he just knew that the tension of the mission was seeping out of his body, he was growing more relaxed, sinking into the support of the chair, safe. Safe with Phil who was giving him what he needed. Phil had stopped scratching his back and gone back to rubbing it with the palms of his hands, which now felt fantastic. Clint heard himself moaning.

Phil leaned over his back, and now Clint could add pressure and the slight tickle of Phil's chest hair to the sensations coursing through him. Clint squirmed again, rubbing up against Phil's chest, setting the chain between the nipple clamps swinging again. He gasped and swore. Phil ran his hands down Clint's arms and laced his fingers through Clint's and squeezed. Clint squeezed back reflexively.

"How are you doing?" Phil asked in his ear.

"Good. Great. Really great Phil. It's... it's really, really good."

"Do you want to continue?"

"Yes. Please Phil."

"Okay. How about we try something else, hmmm?" Phil was rubbing his hands up and down Clint's arms, and now he slid them onto Clint's broad chest and tweaked Clint's clamped nipples lightly.

"Shit. Fuck."

"Going to take them off now, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Clint tried to brace himself for what he knew was coming as Phil tugged the chain that connected the clamps. While Clint was busy swearing again, Phil quickly removed them and dropped them onto the chair. Then Phil put his palms on Clint's pecs and rubbed lightly as Clint gasped and swore through the sensation of his nipples recovering from the clamps.

Clint felt the pressure of Phil's chest against his sore back and Phil's hands on his chest, caressing his abused nipples. It felt... comforting, in some odd way, to have Phil pressed against him like this. He whimpered a little at the loss when Phil pulled away but moaned again when Phil ground a denim-clad hard-on into his ass for a minute before standing up and moving to Clint's side. Clint could see Phil's hands at his own waist, unbuckling his belt. 

Clint watched as Phil grasped the buckle in his palm, wrapped the leather twice around his hand, and then folded the rest of the belt in half, and closed his fingers around the tail, leaving a long, supple loop. 

"On your ass, and the backs of your thighs. Yes or no?" Phil asked, his voice deep and rough. Clint could see his lump of his erection in his jeans, and that made everything even better. He wanted Phil to be loving this just as much as he was. 

"Yes." Clint swallowed, realizing how desperate he sounded in that one syllable. "Please, yes."

"Okay," Phil said. He laid one hand, palm flat on Clint's spine and ran it slowly down his back to his tailbone. Then along the curve of his ass and between Clint's legs to fondle his balls and give his dick a couple of firm strokes. He stepped back and didn't give Clint any warning before swinging the belt and laying it across both cheeks with a solid 'crack'. 

Clint screamed. Phil paused, waiting to see if Clint was going to call safeword. When he didn't, Phil hit him again, and again, and again.

It was perfect. It was exactly what he needed. After the first few blows, Clint was able to sink fully into the sensation. To let his mind go completely blank, and drift on the delicious endorphin high. He felt the blows landing across both cheeks of his butt, building from a sharp sting to a deep ache. After a while, Phil laid the leather on the backs of his thighs, alternating between the right and the left. Clint knew he was moaning, knew he was pulling on the cuffs that bound him to the chair. Not to try to escape, but to feel the safety of them, to feel grounded and held. Phil went back to hitting his butt, harder now, and Clint cried out at each blow. Phil stopped. Waited. Moved in close, and put a gentle hand on Clint's cheek.

"How are you doing?"

"Perfect. Wonnerful. More, please?" More would be awesome. 

"Okay." But Phil didn't move away, didn't take his hand off Clint's cheek. Instead he leaned in close and kissed him, softly at first and then more demandingly. Clint moaned into Phil's mouth and kissed him back, sucking on Phil's hot insistent tongue. 

"Need to put you in a position where you can suck my cock, next time," Phil said when he pulled away. Clint's eyes went wide at the idea.

"Yes, oh God, Phil yes, please."

"Next time," Phil said, and he laid his left palm flat on Clint's back and ran it slowly down his spine. It should have hurt, but all Clint felt was calm reassurance. Phil had him. 

"We'll try the flogger next time, too," he said. "I'll paint your back red with it." Clint shivered under his hand and moaned as Phil's palm swept down over the swell of his ass and the bright red marks left by his belt. Phil stepped back, settled his stance and swung again. Clint howled. 

'It won't be long,' Phil thought, hitting him again carefully, deliberately, all the while watching for signs that it had gone too far. Sure enough, six blows later, he saw Clint's legs start to tremble and stopped immediately. Phil unwound the belt from around his hand and dropped it, then moved to stand right behind Clint, snugging his groin up against Clint's abused ass and draping himself over Clint's back. 

"We're done. You did well, Clint. Very well." Phil ran his hands up and down Clint's arms, touching him, grounding him. Phil kissed the back of Clint's neck and the side of his face. Clint turned his head, looking for more. Phil took his mouth again, kissing hard, sliding his hands up to Clint's biceps and gripping, holding, giving himself permission to take. He thrust against Clint's sore ass, and Clint moaned into the kiss. 

"Gonna fuck you now," Phil said, pulling away from the kiss reluctantly. Clint really was a fantastic kisser.

"Yes, please Phil. Fuck me hard. As hard as you can. Please." Clint shifted, trying to rub his ass into Phil's groin by way of encouragement.

"Don't worry, I'm going to pound you good. Gonna fuck your sweet ass nice and hard." Phil was letting himself go. Letting himself say the things he thought, the things he felt, the things he wanted. The things he had to keep buttoned up and buried deep as Senior Agent Phillip J. Coulson, but things he could let show now that he was just Phil. Phil who was about to fuck a pliant and very willing Clint.

Phil ground his hard cock against Clint's ass again and reached for the lube and condoms. He stepped one pace back, smiling when Clint whimpered a little at the loss of contact. He unbuttoned and shoved his jeans and underwear down and kicked them off. He tore open the condom packet and rolled it onto his hard cock while his hands were still clean, then popped the cap on the lube and squeezed a generous amount out onto the fingers of his right hand.

Tossing the bottle onto the chair, he stepped back up to Clint, putting his clean hand on the back of Clint's neck and easing his lubed fingers between Clint's reddened asscheeks. Clint moaned and squirmed and tried to push back onto Phil's fingers. Phil gripped the back of his neck to hold him still.

"Let me do this, Clint. I'm going to give you want you need, I promise. Just relax and let it happen." Phil stroked his hand soothingly from Clint's neck down along his spine to the small of his back and back up again, pressing very lightly on the reddened skin. At the same time he started to slide one lubed finger into Clint's ass. It went in easily—Clint was a little loose—so Phil tried again with two. As he slowly pressed two fingers all the way in, Clint sighed and moaned.

"Yeah, yeah, that's so good, Phil. So good."

"Good. You ready for more?" Phil was a little surprised at how easily his two fingers were slipping in and out of Clint's hole, and remembered that Clint had said he liked toys, big ones. 

"Oh yeah. Yeah Phil, please."

Phil slid his two fingers out and added a third, pressing back in slowly but firmly. He got a loud groan and then a sigh from Clint.

"Want your cock, Phil. Want to feel you inside me, filling me up. Pounding me hard."

"In a minute." To distract Clint, Phil slipped his other hand down between Clint's legs and fondled his dick and balls. 

"God. Yeah. Please Phil, fuck me. Fuck me, please."

Phil was testing the limits of his own patience, and Clint was clearly loose enough to take him, so Phil slid his fingers out and used the lube on them to slick himself up. He wiped his hand on the towel that covered the chair, and then grabbed Clint by the hips. 

"Gonna fill you up so good, Clint. Gonna give you everything you need," he murmured, now letting his lust have free rein. He pressed in slowly, sheathing himself in Clint's body inch by inch. Clint let out a long, loud moan, and Phil moaned too as he sank all the way in, until his groin was snug up against Clint's hot, red ass. For a minute he was still except for his hands, running them along Clint's back, feeling the ridges of the scratches he'd left. Then he started to move his hips. Tiny little thrusts at first, rocking back just an inch or two, but with force behind his short thrusts so that Clint would feel every smack of Phil's hips into his abused ass. 

"Yeah, God yeah. Fuck me Phil, harder please, fuck, please." Clint was nearly sobbing in frustration, straining against on the ropes that bound him to the chair. Phil lengthened his thrusts, put a bit more force behind each one and curled his fingers so that once again his blunt nails were lightly scraping the skin of Clint's back.

Clint howled.

Phil fucked him hard. Grabbing his hips again and pulling out almost all the way on each powerful thrust, Phil slammed into him with all his strength and all his pent up need. 

"Phil. Oh God. Fuck. Yeah. So. Good. Phil." Clint gasped out between thrusts, and Phil could feel the last of the tension seep out of Clint as he gave himself over to the hard pounding Phil was delivering. That ratcheted up his arousal another notch, and he had to reach for the last shreds of his control to stop himself from coming. He wanted to give Clint everything he needed, just like he had promised, and that meant fucking him just a little harder and a little longer before he gave in himself. Clint's body was lax now, legs just barely holding him up, shoulders pressed deep into the back of the chair, head hanging low. He was making a quiet keening sound with each thrust. Phil thought he looked beautiful but resisted the urge to tell him so. 

When he couldn't take it any longer, Phil moved one hand from Clint's hip and wrapped it around his hard, leaking dick.

"Come for me, Clint." The words were a harsh command, and Clint keened more loudly. It only took a few strokes before Phil could feel Clint's dick twitching and spurting in his hand. Phil thrust twice more and came with a shout.

Phil leaned forward, pressing himself against Clint's back again, and kissing his cheek. "Are you okay?"

Clint's eyes fluttered open.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good. That was... that was incredible Phil."

"You're incredible," Phil said, his brain not yet completely in control of his mouth, and he kissed Clint again to stop himself from saying anything even more embarrassing. "Don't move. Just let me take care of everything, okay?"

"Umm-hmm," Clint mumbled, letting his eyes drift shut again. Phil didn't want to move just yet either, but he knew he needed to. He needed to get Clint free, and get them both cleaned up. Then they could snuggle into bed and he could hold Clint and pet him as much as he wanted to — or as much as Clint would let him. 

Phil was used to the overwhelming surge of protectiveness he was feeling. It happened every time he played like this. Whenever someone trusted him this much, it made him want to coddle and cuddle and protect them from every hurt in the world. Phil sighed as he eased his softening cock out of Clint's ass and heard a small whimper from Clint as well. He hoped it wasn't pain, but he'd check later.

Grabbing a towel from the chair he stripped off the condom and quickly wiped himself, then set to undoing the cuffs. He left the ropes and let the cuffs fall to the floor as he unbuckled each one. Then he stood behind Clint and put one hand under each armpit.

"I want you to straighten up, now and put your hands on the back of the chair for support, okay? I'm right here, I've got you," Phil said as Clint moved, holding him lightly in case he needed help. 

Clint levered himself upright and hung onto the back of the chair as he was told. 

"Good. Now just stay right there for a minute. Don't try to move." Phil watched over his shoulder as he went to the bureau for the bottle of Gatorade he'd left there earlier. He uncapped it and held it to Clint's lips to drink.

"Slowly, as much as you want." Phil had held a canteen or bottle to Clint's lips often enough on missions that it was smooth and easy. Clint drank down two large gulps, then paused and drained half the bottle more slowly. Phil capped the bottle tightly and tossed it onto the bed.

"I just need to go to the bathroom for a minute. I'll be right back. Stay right here and don't try to move, okay Clint?" 

"Sure." Clint had a happy, somewhat dopey expression on his face.

"Okay," Phil smiled at him and couldn't resist dipping his head to kiss Clint once, softly, before heading out of the room. He'd left a small pile of washcloths and hand towels by the sink, and now he quickly ran the water and soaked a cloth. He cleaned himself up a bit more, then tossed the washcloth in the tub and soaked another, taking care that it was nice and warm but not too hot. On his way out of the bathroom he grabbed another towel and threw it over his shoulder.

Clint was right where Phil had left him, holding the back of the chair and looking over his shoulder as Phil came through the bedroom door. The sight of him took Phil's breath away, and his steps slowed.

"What is it?" Clint asked, his forehead wrinkling in concern.

"You're gorgeous," Phil said, giving himself a mental shake and moving quickly to Clint's side. He could see the faint blush on Clint's neck, and so he continued. "You are. You're beautiful. You're one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen and I'm honored that you agreed to let me do this for you." With the washcloth in one hand, Phil was gently cleaning between Clint's asscheeks and then wiping his balls. The other hand smoothed Clint's damp hair away from his face. Clint leaned his head towards Phil's hand, chasing the soft touches. 

Phil was almost desperate to wrap Clint up in his arms, so he dropped the washcloth and left the towel on the chair. Taking one of Clint's wrists, he tugged very gently.

"Come on, let's get you into bed."

Clint's forehead wrinkled again, but he didn't say anything. Phil led him to the side of the bed. He moved the bottle of Gatorade to the bedside table and folded down he covers.

"Climb in," Phil said.

Clint didn't immediately move but instead turned to Phil.

"You're, uh..." he said, hesitating. Phil suddenly understood the significance of the crinkled forehead and leaned in to kiss Clint once more, this time a soft, slow lingering kiss on the lips. 

"I'll be joining you just as soon as I've turned out the lights."

Clint's smile went from relieved to shy, and he climbed into bed. Phil waited until he was settled, and then crossed the room to turn out the lights. Enough city light spilled in through the window around the edges of the drapes that Phil didn't bother switching the bedside reading lamp on; he just crawled into bed beside Clint. He fussed with pillows for a second and reached for Clint.

"Come here," he urged, wrapping his fingers around one bicep and tugging until Clint was snuggled onto Phil's shoulder, one arm wrapped around Phil's chest and one leg thrown across his hips. 

"That's it, that's good." Phil said, tilting his head down to drop light kisses on Clint's forehead and sliding one hand into Clint's hair. "How are you doing?"

"Good, I'm good. That was really great Phil, thank you so much."

"Good, I'm glad," Phil said, kissing him again and continuing to stroke his hair.

"It's... it's been a really, really long time since anyone... since there was anyone who could do that for me. I... I really needed it and..." Clint's halting words stopped and he turned his face further into Phil's shoulder.

"It's okay, Clint. I've got you. I've got you, you're okay."

"Yeah, I know." It came out as a mumble. Clint drew a deep breath and let it out with a sound that wasn't quite a sob. Phil held him tighter, and Clint took that as permission to snuggle in closer and cling to Phil.

"I'm here. I've got you. Whatever you need, Clint, I'm here. You're okay. I've got you." 

Another deep breath in and out, more quietly this time.

"M'okay."

"Good, but it's okay if you're not." Phil kissed him again and again and again, wanting to reassure, to comfort, to sooth whatever pain or fear or sorrow Clint was working through. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"

Clint was quiet for a long time, then turned his head so he could look up into Phil's eyes.

"I... Are you... Can we do this again, next time, I mean?"

"Yes." Phil answered quickly and firmly. "We'll debrief properly tomorrow morning, but yes, absolutely, the next time you need me, I'll be here for you."

"Thanks... I... thanks." Another long breath in and out, calmer now. "I needed to know, so I could... know. Know if I could..."

"Let yourself need it?"

"Let myself need you," Clint said quietly into Phil's shoulder.

Phil wanted to wrap Clint up in cotton and never, ever let anything hurt him ever again. He contented himself with squeezing his arms more tightly around Clint and saying "I'm here. I've got you. You're okay. I'm here."

"That guy," Clint said after a while, "the one we tried to rescue. His face. His eyes. I'm gonna see that in my nightmares."

"Yes, I know," Phil said, knowing there was no point in trying to reassure or pretend that the image wouldn't haunt Clint's dreams. "You can call me, if you need to. Anytime. In the middle of the night even. I know what it's like to have nightmares and wake up alone in the dark."

Clint snuggled even closer, clutching at Phil with both hands and wrapping one leg around Phil's. 

"Thanks. For this. For everything."

"You're welcome," Phil said, and kissed his forehead again and stroked his hair until he fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Their working relationship grew into a solid friendship. They spent more time together, Clint deciding that he had carte blanche to wander into Phil's office anytime the door wasn't locked and stretch out on the battered sofa. When Clint was restless or tense, it calmed him to lay with his head pillowed on one arm and his ankles dangling over the end, eyes closed, listening to the rhythm of Phil's typing. 

And when Phil had had a bad day full of meetings and bureaucracy and incompetent junior agents, he changed into training gear and sought Clint out. They'd go a few rounds of hand-to-hand on the mats in the gym. 

Five weeks later Clint got clipped by a stray bullet during a firefight that erupted when one of the AIM operatives they were rounding up suddenly decided he wasn't going to be taken alive, and managed to grab a gun from the holster of a SHIELD agent who was looking in the other direction. Clint's arrow went through the guy's throat a fraction of a second after Phil's bullet went through his heart, but not before the suicidal idiot had managed to empty most of his clip into the SHIELD agents surrounding him. It wasn’t a bad wound (Clint had been shot enough times to know) but that didn't stop Phil from making sure.

"S'just a scratch," Clint said as Phil stripped his tac suit vest off.

"The medics are four minutes out. I need to make sure you're not loosing too much blood." 

Clint hissed as Phil eased his bloody t-shirt up to reveal a furrow along one rib.

"Sorry, I'm being as gentle as I can."

"I know. See, I told you, just a scratch."

"Yes, okay," Phil said, having satisfied himself that the wound was relatively minor and Clint wasn't in any immediate danger. He looked up into Clint's eyes, and Clint felt a warm glow at the genuine concern he saw. He reached out to briefly squeeze Phil's arm.

"I'm fine."

Phil nodded a sharp little nod, and the Agent Coulson mask slipped back into place. With one last light touch on Clint's bare skin above the wound, Phil turned away and went back to checking on the rest of the wounded agents and directing the mop-up.

The 'scratch' turned out to be somewhat more serious than that, and the doctor in SHIELD Medical insisted on knocking Clint out to stitch it up. Clint was pretty sure it had more to do with his (completely unwarranted) reputation as a bad patient than actual medical necessity, but he finally gave up and let the doctors have their way. 

When he woke up three hours later, it was to the familiar sight of the ceiling above one of the hospital beds, the familiar smell of disinfectant, and... the familiar sound of Phil's typing? 

Clint turned his head and sure enough, sitting in the visitor's chair with his laptop balanced somewhat precariously on his knees, Phil was typing away, writing the after-mission report which no doubt included a politely-but-strongly-worded recommendation that all SHIELD agents be subjected to extensive re-training to prevent bad guys grabbing their guns in future... 

"Hey, boss. What'cha doing here?" His throat was scratchy and sore from the breathing tube, and he gave a little cough. Phil held up a single finger, finished his typing, then snapped the laptop closed and set it aside. He put the remote for the bed in Clint's hand and then reached for the ubiquitous styrofoam cup and pitcher of water.

"Just checking in," he said. Clint remembered the warm concern he'd seen in Phil's eyes earlier, and let him leave it at that. He drained the cup of water Phil handed him. "How's your side?"

"Oh, yeah, like you haven't already read my chart," Clint grinned. "It's fine. The local hasn't worn off yet, so I can't even feel the stitches pulling. Is the rib cracked?"

"No, just bruised."

"Excellent. I'll only be out of action for a couple of weeks, then."

"Well the doctor recommends three full weeks recovery - " Phil started to say, but his eyes were twinkling.

"But we both know I'll be bouncing off the walls and sneaking onto the range for practice after ten days, and you'll roll your eyes and sigh and agree to put me back on duty rotation after two weeks, just to stop me bitching." 

Phil tried to look severe, but they both knew it was a sham. Phil answered Clint's wide grin with a small smile of his own, then laid a warm hand briefly on Clint's bare shoulder.

"If you stay here until they officially release you, I'll buy you a steak dinner." 

"Last time I checked, they don't serve steak in the cafeteria."

"I'll take you out. To proper restaurant. One that serves great steak."

Clint was trying to figure out the catch. "And all I have to do is stay here until the doc says I can go?"

"Yes."

"Well, okay then. It's a deal." Clint's grin got wider, and he folded his arms behind his head, leaning back against the stack of pillows. Phil was briefly distracted by the way Clint's muscles rippled across his chest, and Clint caught him looking. Phil managed not to blush, barely, and turned away to pick up his laptop and gather his paperwork.

"I'll drop by tomorrow, just to check and see how you're doing," Phil said. They both knew that it was half out of genuine concern and half checking up to make sure Clint was following the doctor's orders.

"I'll look forward to it," Clint said, sitting up in bed as Phil straightened his tie with his free hand, a signal that he was about to leave. "I, uh... thanks. For, uh... being here." The fingers of Clint's left hand twitched as if he was thinking about reaching out. Phil stepped closer to the bed. He wanted to put down his laptop and papers and pull Clint into his arms and hold him. He wanted to give and receive comfort. He wanted to kiss Clint on the lips. He did none of those things. Instead he glanced towards the nurse's station to make sure no one was around, and then laid a hand on Clint's cheek. 

"You're welcome," he said quietly and leaned in to kiss Clint's forehead. As he was pulling back but before he moved his hand, Clint turned his head and pressed his own kiss to Phil's palm, looking up at him with a soft expression in his eyes.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah."

Five days later, Phil took Clint out for the promised steak dinner at a proper restaurant. Five weeks later, Clint was captured during a mission.

Phil didn't sleep very much for the three days it took to track down where Clint was being held. When they finally did, he insisted on leading the retrieval team himself. He was efficient, ruthless, and deadly as they cleared bad guys out of the building, and he took point as they searched the sub-basement. Sure enough behind the third door he kicked in, he found Clint stripped to the waist and suspended from the ceiling by his arms, a bag over his head. Phil was relieved to see Clint still had his pants on; he'd most likely been spared that particular trauma at least. Phil quartered the room before holstering his weapon and approaching Clint, whose body had gone rigid when the door opened.

"Hawkeye, it's Coulson. You're safe," he said, standing close but not touching Clint, not yet. When Clint's body didn't relax at all, Phil added his personal SHIELD security code, "Papa-Charlie-727-Bravo."

"Phil?" Clint's voice was hoarse and ragged, muffled by the bag, and barely recognizable.

"Yes, Clint. It's me," Phil said more softly, "I'm here. You're safe."

"Phil." The sound was practically a sob this time, and Phil's hands shook slightly as he raised them to the bag covering Clint's head.

"I'm going to take the bag off now, okay, Clint? Close your eyes." 

"'kay," Clint mumbled, and Phil carefully lifted the bag off Clint's head, knowing from too much experience in this kind of scenario that sometimes fabric was stuck to skin with dried blood. The face he revealed was purple and bruised, with split lips and broken teeth, black eyes and deep grazes on cheeks and temple. Clint had been pistol whipped. Repeatedly by the looks of it. 

Phil turned his head and called over his shoulder, "Garcia call the medics. Leibowitz get some bolt cutters." Phil didn't want to waste time picking the locks on the handcuffs that secured Clint's wrists to the chains that held him.

"Are your arms broken?" he asked, turning back to Clint.

"I don' fink so," Clint slurred, slumping in his restraints now that he knew he was safe.

"I'm going to hold you up to take the weight off your arms. Leibowitz will be here with the bolt cutters in a minute." Phil put his arms around Clint and supported his weight. Clint let his head loll on Phil's shoulder. 

"Phil," he whispered, his swollen, split lips close to Phil's ear.

"I'm here. I've got you. You're okay. You're safe. I've got you." Phil had to fight the urge to squeeze his arms more tightly around Clint, aware that there might be internal damage.

"Knew you'd come," Clint said, and passed out.

~~~~~~

Clint woke up in medical. He wiggled his fingers and his toes and was relieved when all twenty seemed to be present and functioning. His face ached, and he had a vague feeling that his side should too, but it didn't. The docs had probably jabbed him with a local to stitch him up again. He swallowed, but it didn't hurt, which meant he hadn't been on a breathing tube. If he hadn't needed a general anesthetic, his injuries probably weren't all that serious. His memory of the past few days drifted back, including the butt of a pistol smashing repeatedly into his jaw. He ran his tongue carefully along his teeth, finding three jagged, broken ones. There were another couple of visits to the SHIELD dentist in his future, then.

Clint heard a raspy half-snore to his right, and slowly turned his head. Phil was asleep in the chair next to his bed, head tipped back, mouth open, tie and collar buttons undone, with two days worth of stubble on his chin and dark circles under his eyes.

Clint worked some saliva into his mouth and swallowed a couple of times before clearing his throat to say, "You look like shit."

Phil startled awake like a man who hadn't planned to fall asleep, and his hand went to his hip where his sidearm would be if he wasn't in Headquarters. He blinked twice to clear his eyes and said, "Wait until they give you a mirror."

It hurt his split lips to grin, but Clint did it anyway.

"Aw, it always looks way worse than it feels, but it does feel pretty bad, so... How long have I been out?"

"The docs gave you a sedative when we brought you in so that they could clean up your face and re-stitch your side. That knocked you out for the first 24 hours, and you've been drifting in and out all morning. You have a bit of a concussion but nothing serious. They did a CAT scan, and it's clear."

"Thanks," Clint said, and his gratitude was heartfelt. He knew Phil was telling him straight, that he wasn't leaving anything out or hiding anything. "They seemed to think I'd had surgery or something when they saw the fresh scar on my side so they kept hitting me there. Is the rib broken this time?"

"No, just bruised again."

Clint nodded, and that hurt too. Apparently there were stitches up in his hairline. They were going to itch like a motherfucker, he knew from experience. His head was still turned to the side, and he caught and held Phil's eyes with his own.

"Thanks," he said, "for coming to get me."

"I'll always come for you." Phil's words were quiet, but strong, and his eyes held an intensity that Clint had never seen before.

"Yeah, I know. It helped a lot, knowing you were coming. Thanks. You should, uh, get some proper sleep somewhere. Looks like you could use it." Clint said, then added, "I'm okay," seeing the flicker of uncertainty in Phil's eyes. It was the closest either of them was going to come to talking about why Phil had spent the last 48 hours in a chair by Clint's bed.

"Yes. They'll probably let you out after 24 hours observation, now that you're awake. I'll set up your dental appointments for you. Come see me when you're ready to give me your after-action report."

"Yeah, 'course." Clint watched as Phil climbed tiredly out of his chair and wanted to do something, to help, to comfort... "Phil," he held Phil's eyes again, but didn't know what to say.

Phil looked back at him for a moment then nodded.

"I know," he said, and Clint nodded too. That was okay then. Phil understood. 

~~~~~~

Clint was lying on the sofa in Phil's office, picking at the tape on the bandages around his wrists. The nurse in medical had insisted on winding white gauze around the dark scabs that were forming where his skin had been rubbed off by the handcuffs. He'd protested to no avail. The docs and nurses weren't bad people; they just didn't seem to understand that the bandage was only going to get dirty and wet and snag on things and make him sweat and itch even worse. 

"Just take it off if it's annoying you so much," Phil said in an exasperated tone, looking up from his typing. Then, "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you."

"S'okay, I know you must have had a rough time while they had me," Clint said as he peeled off the tape and unwound the bandages from his wrists with an audible sigh of relief.

Phil shook his head. 

"It shouldn't have happened. We should have had better intel so that I could have put you in a better position, or better radio contact so that we could have tracked you more easily and found you sooner, or..."

"Phil," Clint said gently, "it happens. No matter how well you prepare a mission, no matter how good and how careful you are, this stuff happens. It's not your fault. Besides, I'm fine."

"It is my fault," Phil said, his eyes dark and hard. "It's always my fault when one of my people gets hurt."

Clint nodded, not because he agreed with Phil, but because he understood. Just like it was Clint's job to make the shot, it was Phil's job to run a successful mission. And a successful mission meant everyone coming home in one piece, even though that wasn't always possible. Anything less was a failure.

"Sorry," Phil said again, rubbing a hand over his eyes and rolling his shoulders to try to loosen the tension in them. 

"S'okay. Do you want to finish this some other time?"

"No," Phil said quickly, "no, I want to get it done."

Clint went back to describing the questions the bad guys had asked him before Phil and the retrieval team burst in and shot them. 

The next day at lunchtime, Clint poked his head into Phil's office.

"Hey boss, I was heading to the canteen for lunch, you wanna come with?"

"Thanks Clint, I'd love to, but I'm really swamped here. I'm just going to grab a sandwich later."

"Sure, catch you later," Clint said with a wave and left. Ten minutes later he was back with a cafeteria tray loaded with sandwiches, soup, two kinds of pie, two flavors of jello, a large coffee and an extra-large hot chocolate. He didn't say anything as he unloaded half the contents of the tray onto the little coffee table, and then carefully put the tray still loaded with sandwiches, coffee, and two kinds of pie onto the corner of Phil's desk.

"Save you having to go out later," Clint said with a mischievous grin and cautiously sipped his soup straight from the container.

"Ah, dentist again this morning. How did it go?"

"Fine. Dr. Nguyen is pretty cool, and fast, too. Not that I have much experience with other dentists, of course, but I barely had time to start getting bored before he was done. See?" Clint bared his teeth in a wide grimace, and Phil could indeed see that the broken teeth had all been repaired. 

Clint drank his soup and ate his jello while Phil munched on his sandwiches. 

"You didn't need to get me two pieces of pie," Phil said, debating between cherry-rhubarb and lemon meringue.

"I didn't know which you liked better. I'll have the other one if you don't want it. Should be easy enough to chew."

"Here then, you take the lemon meringue; it's softer."

"Only if you like cherry better," Clint insisted and didn't reach out to take the plate from Phil until he had insisted that he liked cherry-rhubarb very much.

"Do you actually like lemon meringue?" Phil belatedly asked, halfway through his cherry-rhubarb pie.

"It's pie, it's got sugar in it. What's not to like?" Clint answered, licking a stray bit of meringue off his still-swollen lips. "There's hardly anything I won't eat. Got bad food poisoning from clam chowder once, so I'm not so keen on seafood any more. But apart from that... if it's food, I'll eat it, pretty much."

Phil nodded, understanding both about the food poisoning and the fact that Clint's upbringing meant that he couldn't afford to be picky about his likes and dislikes when it came to food.

Once he'd finished eating, Clint stretched out on Phil's sofa with his hot chocolate balanced on his chest, sipping slowly. Phil put his coffee by his elbow and the cafeteria tray on the floor and went back to typing. Ten minutes later when he glanced over, he saw that Clint's cup was sitting half-full on the floor by the sofa, and Clint was fast asleep. 

Clint slept for four hours, then yawned, stretched, and climbed off the sofa.

"I musta been more tired than I thought. Thanks for letting me crash. I'll take this stuff back," he said, picking up the cafeteria tray and the dishes.

"No problem, any time," Phil said, his glance only flicking up and then back to the work he was obviously absorbed in.

The next day, Clint simply showed up at 12:30 with a loaded cafeteria tray, this time with shepherd's pie for Phil and pizza for himself. And only two slices of pie. No jello in sight.

"Hey boss, lunchtime!" he said with a wide grin as he set tray down and started unloading it.

"Clint," Phil tried to protest, but Clint cut him off.

"I checked your schedule, and you clocked out at 8:30 last night and in at 7:30 this morning. And you didn't have any meetings scheduled, so I knew you were going to be stuck in your office all day again. So I brought you lunch."

Phil couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound churlish, so he smiled a very small smile and said, "Thank you."

"No problem," Clint grinned again and then started to stuff pizza into his mouth.

Clint finished eating, then stretched out on the sofa, pillowed his head on his arms, and fell asleep. For seven hours. He didn't even stir when Phil switched off his computer, packed his briefcase and walked over to stand by the sofa. 

"Clint," Phil said before reaching out to shake him by the shoulder.

Clint's eyes snapped open and his body tensed, then relaxed again as he saw Phil leaning over him. He yawned and stretched.

"Guess I fell asleep again, huh? Sorry boss."

"Clint, are you okay?"

"Sure, why wouldn't I be?"

"No headaches, blurred vision, nausea, anything like that?"

"No, no I'm fine. Just didn't sleep much while I was hanging from my arms. Still catching up I guess."

"Okay. I'm heading home now. You should probably do the same."

"Yep. 'Night, Phil."

Phil told himself he wasn't disappointed when Clint didn't show up at his office the next day at lunchtime. He saw Clint later that day, apparently on his way back from working out in the gym, and gave him a small smile and a nod as they passed each other in the hall. 

The day after that, Phil pried himself away from his desk at lunchtime and headed to the cafeteria, telling himself he wasn't looking for Clint. Who was there, holding court at a full table of junior agents, regaling them with stories of ops he had been on, bad guys he had captured, and shots he had made. Clint saw Phil watching, and threw him a cocky grin and a wink before going back to telling a shaggy-dog story about a goat, a wheelbarrow, a farmer's daughter, and an alarm clock that he swore up and down had actually happened on a long-ago mission. Phil raised an eyebrow at him and took his lunch tray back to his office.

That night, at two o'clock in the morning, Phil's phone rang. He was sitting up and reaching for his pants when he recognized Clint's voice on the other end. Phil collapsed back onto his pillow.

"Clint? What is it?"

"You said I could call," Clint's voice over the phone, sounded unusually quiet and small. "You said, anytime, even in the middle of the night, if... uh..." Clint's voice trailed off uncertainly. 

Phil remembered the conversation, and the promise he'd made.

"Did you have a nightmare?" he asked quietly.

"Heh," Clint's wheeze of laughter sounded forced. "I guess you could say that. I..." There was another pause, before the words came out in a rush. "Every time I close my eyes, since... Every time I close my eyes, I can feel the bag over my head, and I'm terrified of falling asleep in case they come into the room while I'm asleep and I don't know they're there. I know it's stupid."

"It's not stupid," Phil said, but then realization dawned. "Is that why you were sleeping on my sofa in the afternoons. You haven't been sleeping at night?"

"Um, yeah."

"And you didn't back come after I asked you, the other day, if you were having concussion symptoms."

"Didn't want you to send me to Medical, or to Psych."

Phil carefully didn't let Clint hear his sigh. He understood Clint's reluctance to spend any more time than necessary in Medical and his almost pathological avoidance of the Psych department. Phil didn't blame him. He'd spent enough years, both in the army and at SHIELD, to know that no matter how well intentioned the medical staff were, only one in ten had the experience necessary to deal with someone like Clint. It wasn't Clint's fault that just about every authority figure he'd ever encountered prior to joining SHIELD, doctors and psychiatrists included, had hurt or betrayed him in one way or another. 

"You can sleep on the sofa in my office for as long as you need to." Phil said, knowing that it wasn't the best solution, but that it was what Clint needed to hear right now.

"Thanks. Thanks, Phil."

"Whatever you need," Phil said softly, his heart going out to the shaky voice on the other end of the phone. "Do you want to come over here?"

"I... no, no I'm okay. Thanks though."

"If there's anything else I can do," Phil had asked if Clint wanted to come over as much for his own sake as for Clint's. His urge to protect, to take care of, the urges that he felt most strongly at the end of a scene, but that were present now because Clint had trusted him enough to call, and to confess to Phil what was really going on.

"Well, um, now that you mention it..."

"What do you need, Clint? What can I do to help?"

"Um well, it's the middle of the night now, so it's not... but, um, maybe I could come over tomorrow night, or, you know, whenever is convenient, for you know, what we talked about that time? Like after Romania..."

Phil pushed past his surprise to ask evenly, "Will it help?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure, anyway. I need... I need to clear my head. I need to let it go instead of spinning around and around like I'm doing now. I'm sorry, I'm not making very much sense."

"It's okay, you don't need to. Come to my office tomorrow, whenever you like, and sleep for as long as you need to. And then tomorrow after work, we'll come back here, and I'll give you what you need." Phil let his voice drop into the gravelly register he only used when he was topping.

"God, yes. Thank you, Phil."

"Hey, I promised, remember?" Phil said, his voice back to normal "The last time, you asked me and I said I'd be here for you when you needed me."

"Yeah, I know, it's just... thanks."

Again, Phil carefully didn't sigh audibly. Clint trusted him, but he didn't trust the universe to give him the things he wanted, or needed. 'With good reason,' Phil thought, picturing the bruised face that had grinned at him in the cafeteria yesterday. He was suddenly very glad that he had a whole day to prepare himself, psychologically and emotionally, to tie Clint up and hurt him, so soon after... He was going to have to be extra careful, both in planning the scene and watching Clint's reactions during it. 

"Do you want to stay on the phone for a bit?" Phil asked, realizing that they'd both been silent for the last couple of minutes.

"No, I'm okay now. I'll quit trying to sleep and watch a movie or something. I'll, uh, see you tomorrow morning I guess, then?"

"Yes. I'll be in around 8:00."

"Okay. I know I keep saying it, but thanks."

"You're welcome," Phil said sincerely.

"Sorry for waking you."

"Anytime. I meant it when I first said it, and I mean it now. Even if you need to call back tonight, in an hour. Or in ten minutes. It's okay."

There was a short bark of laughter that was closer to Clint's usual tone, and then a quiet, "Yeah, okay. Goodnight Phil."

"Goodnight Clint," Phil said, and listened to the click and the dead air for a minute before putting his phone back down on the night table.


	4. Chapter 4

Clint showed up at Phil's office at a quarter-to-ten the next morning, looking tired, but otherwise okay. Or as okay as he could look with purple-fading-to-yellow bruises along the side of his face, and the black ends of sutures sticking out from under his hairline, mixed with patches of stubble that were growing back in where his hair had been shaved. Clint gave Phil a wave and a shadow of his usual grin, and headed for the sofa.

"What's this?" he asked, picking up a grey folded blanket and a small pillow that were sitting neatly on one end.

"I thought you'd be more comfortable, so I borrowed them from temp quarters."

"Thanks, boss. You're the best." Clint kicked off his boots, then settled down with the pillow and pulled the blanket over himself, sighing contentedly as if it were a goose-down duvet instead of cheap, disposable polyester. 

"Do you want me to wake you for lunch?" Phil asked mildly.

"Naw, thanks. I had a big breakfast, so I'll probably sleep through. Dinner'd be great though." 

"I thought we'd stop for something on the way to my place, if that's okay with you?"

"Sure boss, whatever you want," Clint said, curling up and yawning.

"Sleep well." Phil said, and he watched as Clint's eyes drifted shut and his breathing evened out. And then kept on watching as he slept. Phil had had a restless night, taking a long time to fall back to sleep after Clint's phone call. Mostly he'd wondered if he would actually be able to bring himself to inflict more pain on Clint's bruised body, even with Clint asking for it. Phil understood the psychology of BDSM. He knew that tying Clint up and hitting him, with Clint's explicit permission, with trust and love and a safeword, wasn't the same thing as Clint having been captured and strung up by his arms and pistol-whipped. 

Except that in the middle of last night when he'd learned that Clint didn't feel safe with his eyes closed, when his voice on the phone had sounded so small and lost, it hadn't felt that way.

'He asked you,' Phil said to himself. 'He asked you to help him. You promised you would. It will be okay. You know how to be careful, how to be safe. How to check and double-check. He trusts you and feels safe with you and he's experienced enough at this to know what he needs. He needs you, and you promised you'd be there for him.'

Phil felt calmer and more certain as he went over these things in his head. He would ask Clint more about what he needed before they started of course, but he catalogued his tools, mentally selecting some things as options and rejecting others. He realized he'd been watching Clint sleep for nearly a half-hour, and he turned back to his computer.

~~~~~

"Clint, wake up; it's time to head home." Phil spoke first, before reaching out to shake Clint gently by the shoulder. Clint's eyes snapped open and his body stiffened, like it had two days' previously, but Clint smiled sleepily as soon as he saw Phil. 

"Thanks boss," Clint said, yawning and stretching in a way that made his t-shirt ride up and put his abs on prominent display. Phil would have been aroused by the sight if it hadn't been for the mass of dark bruising around the still-healing cut over Clint's ribs, pointedly reminding him of what had been done to Clint. 'On your watch,' his brain spitefully reminded him. 

Clint sat up and stuffed his feet into his boots. Phil took his suit jacket off the hook and shrugged it on, using the movement to distract himself from the sudden impulse to pull Clint into his arms and hold him, again, as much for his own sake as for Clint's. 

They were quiet on the way out of Headquarters; Phil lost in his own thoughts, and Clint still shaking off sleep. 

"What do you want to eat?" Phil asked as they hit the sidewalk.

"You know me, I'll eat anything. A burger'd taste pretty damn good right now, though."

They stopped at a greasy-spoon two blocks from Phil's apartment for take out burgers and ate at Phil's dining table. After they'd finished, things got a little awkward.

"So, uh..." Clint started.

"Clint, before we go any further, I need to know, are you absolutely sure this is what you want?"

"Look, Phil, if you don't want to, it's okay, I mean..." Clint stood up and his eyes darted towards his boots and the door.

"Clint," Phil's voice was soft and gentle. He reached out but didn't touch him. "Come here, please." Clint hesitated a moment then took a small step towards Phil, then another. Phil stood and put his hand on Clint's arm, but he didn't pull or urge him forward, just waited, and said, "Please" softly, once more. Clint stepped into Phil's arms, and Phil held him close. He only relaxed once Phil had tucked his head onto Clint's shoulder, laying his cheek against Clint's neck and cradling the back of his head in one hand. Clint's arms came up, and he clung to Phil a little desperately.

"I'm going to give you what you need, Clint, I promise. I'm going to take care of you." Phil murmured, running his other hand soothingly up and down Clint's spine. "I just need to know that you're sure because I can't take the chance that I'll hurt you or somehow make things worse."

Phil assumed the choked sound that came from Clint's throat was meant to be a laugh.

"You're not gonna hurt me Phil, and there's no way you could make things worse. You make me feel safe. The way no one else ever has. I need this, please." Clint's words were mumbled into his neck, so quietly that Phil could only just make them out.

"Of course, Clint, of course. I promised you that I'd give you what you need, and I will." Phil continued stroking his back and pressed his lips lightly to the side of Clint's neck, giving comfort as he'd so desperately wanted to over the past few days. "Help me do the best I can for you, Clint. Tell me what you want, what will help, and what you don't want me to do to you."

Clint shuddered in his arms and held on more tightly for a second, then said, "If we could leave the lights on, that'd be good."

"Of course," Phil said. He'd already planned to do just that, wanting to be able to see Clint clearly at all times, to make sure he didn't miss a bad reaction or a subtle cue to slow down or stop. "What else?"

"I... if... maybe if you could be in front of me, somehow. So I can see you?"

"Yes," Phil said immediately. That had occurred to him as well, and he'd taken it into account when thinking about how to tie Clint down and which tools to use on him. "Yes, that's a good idea. We'll do it that way. Anything else?"

Clint was calmer now, relaxing in his arms.

"No," Clint moved his head in a way that might have been a shake or might have just been him rubbing his face against Phil's cheek. "Just, don't hold back, Phil. Please. I need it... all the way."

"I'm going to give you what you need, Clint I promise."

"Thanks." Clint squeezed his arms around Phil tightly for a moment then relaxed, and lifted his head. "I, uh... was thinking maybe I could grab a quick shower? I feel kinda grungy from sleeping in these clothes."

"Sure, go right ahead. You know where everything is; help yourself to towels and whatever else you need. It'll give me a chance to get everything set up."

"Thanks Phil," Clint said, looking straight into hiss eyes.

"You're welcome," Phil said, and he couldn't help himself from leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on Clint's lips. Lips that curved into a smile under his before pulling away. 

Phil waited until the bathroom door closed behind Clint, then drew a long deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he did it again, settling himself, centering his thoughts and emotions on his responsibility to give Clint what he so desperately needed. One last long, deep breath in and out, then Phil headed for the bedroom, stripping off his tie and shirt as he went. 

He stripped down completely, deciding that being naked and therefore a little vulnerable might make Clint feel safer. He turned the coverlet down all the way and opened the drawer that held his tools and toys, taking out the things he wanted putting them on the bed. He went to the fridge for a bottle of water and the linen closet for a couple of clean towels. He locked up the apartment, set the alarm, and silenced his phone. He left all the lights on. 

He stood looking at the things on the bed while he waited for Clint to finish up in the shower and hoped they would be... right. Enough. Phil hadn't felt this unsure of himself about a scene in years, but he figured he had good enough reason this time. 

'Just stay focused, take things as slow as you need to, and give him what he needs.'

The bathroom door opened and Clint emerged, naked and still scrubbing at his hair with a towel. He seemed surprised to see Phil bare-assed, but he grinned and tossed the towel into the bathroom. His eyes slid off Phil's body and onto the items laid out on the bed. 

"Anything there a problem?" Phil asked quietly. He watched as Clint took everything in: the same pair of leather cuffs they had used last time with rope, a thick, curved vibrator, a riding crop, a short fiberglass cane, a small flogger, condoms and lube.

"No," Clint said, looking back at Phil, "no, that's fine. Look, Phil, please quit treating me like I'm made of glass. I'm a little fucked in the head right now, sure, but I'm not gonna break. I've been through a lot worse and survived." Phil heard the unspoken 'without you.'

"I just want to do the best I can for you. C'mere," Phil hooked a hand around the back of Clint's neck and this time had no qualms about pulling Clint forward into his arms, and into a hot, demanding kiss. He wasn't trying to distract Clint; he was trying to get them both into a better headspace for what came next. This was, after all, primarily about sex. A specific, kinky kind of sex, sure, but ultimately, sex. Phil wanted to get back to that before they went any further. So he kissed Clint filthily, shoving his tongue into Clint's mouth for Clint to suck on, and ran his hands up and down Clint's back. He dropped his hands to Clint's ass and grabbed, digging his fingers in and pulling their groins together. 

For long minutes, he let himself get lost in the sensuality of Clint's body, the taste of his mouth, the silky feel of his still-damp skin, the smell of arousal as they kissed and let two hard cocks rub against each other. Clint moaned as Phil pulled his mouth away, licking along Clint's jaw and down his throat before nipping at his shoulder. 

"God, yeah, Phil. Harder. Bite me. Fuck." Clint had one of his hands in Phil's hair, threaded through the short strands at the back of his neck and the other on Phil's ass, kneading in time to his thrusts. Phil nuzzled and licked at a spot near the join of neck and shoulder, waiting until he got another breathy 'yeah,' from Clint before biting down and then sucking a livid bruise into the skin. Clint moaned again.

"Ready for me to tie you down?" Phil asked.

"Oh yeah."

"Good. On the bed, on your back, in the middle." Clint gave one last thrust of his hard dick into Phil's thigh then moved, settling himself with his arms outstretched.

"You look gorgeous like that," Phil's, voice was low and gravelly as he picked up the cuffs and buckled the first one around Clint's wrist, tying it off to the bedpost. Before moving around to do the other wrist, he folded a pillow in half and put it behind Clint's head, so that Clint would be able to easily see everything that happened. He leaned down to kiss Clint, and Clint threaded his free hand into Phil's hair again.

"You like that?" Phil asked with a fond smile.

"I like touching you. I like that... that it's something I get to do." Phil didn't let himself think too hard about the implications of that. Instead he kissed Clint again then pulled away and went around to the other side of the bed to tie his other arm.

"Okay?" he asked when he was done, and Clint tugged at the restraints before answering.

"Yeah, it's good."

"Good." Phil glanced around the room to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, and then climbed onto the bed, careful not to scatter his tools and supplies. "Spread your legs for me." 

Clint did, and Phil grabbed another pillow and shoved it under Clint's butt, raising it to give him better access. That done, Phil settled on his knees between Clint's legs and moved in close. He held Clint's eyes while he ran his hands up Clint's thighs to his groin and started to play with Clint's dick and balls, teasing and stroking lightly. 

Clint settled, relaxing with a sigh, shifting his shoulders to get more comfortable and then folding his calves around Phil's butt. Phil kept his eyes on Clint's face, watching his reactions. He wanted Clint turned on, all hot and bothered. He wanted Clint to be squirming with need before he started hitting him. He used his fingernails on the underside of Clint's hard dick, on the taut skin of his scrotum, on the sensitive insides of his thighs. He kept it up until Clint let out a quiet moan and then Phil reached for the lube. 

Clint smiled when he saw Phil coating his fingers. He trusted Phil absolutely, that was why he was here, after all, but he knew how easy it would be for this to go off the rails. The faster Phil moved things along, the better. Clint needed to be taken out of his head. Reduced to a quivering mass of nerve endings and need, and after four days of building tension, the sooner he got there, the better. He muttered 'yeah' and tried spread himself wider when Phil eased two fingers into his ass. Phil's fingers inside him felt so damn good. All of Phil's touches felt incredible. The hug earlier had grounded him in a way he had desperately needed, but Phil's fingers in his ass were even better, and much more intimate. 

There was something about Phil's hands. Something Clint had noticed not long after they started working together. Phil may look for all the world like an accountant, but Clint's eyes saw what others missed. One glance at Phil's hands told Clint that the man was a Grade-A badass. The small calluses from his sidearm, which meant he practiced at the range regularly. The slight roughening of the skin on the edge of his pinky from the ju-jitsu he practiced. Nails always perfectly trimmed, just long enough to be able to pick up a quarter from a table, and no longer. But beyond all that... Over the past few years, Clint had seen Phil's hands stitch a wound, diffuse a bomb, comfort a dying comrade, dig through rubble, and hold his own guts in. Phil's hands somehow represented his competence and his reliability.

So having Phil's hands on his skin, and even more so, having Phil's fingers in his ass, felt safe and comforting. If he was in Phil's hands, everything was going to be fine. Clint sighed and relaxed and tried to let himself go. Let himself float on the sensations: the light stroking of Phil's fingers on his dick, the delicious stretch in his ass, the occasional nudge on his prostate. Phil's thighs snug under his. His calves wrapped around Phil's back... The only thing that could make it better is if Phil could kiss him as well, but he knew that wasn't going to happen, not now anyway. Maybe later. Hopefully later. He would ask, Clint decided. There was nothing wrong with asking to be kissed during a scene like this. Phil would kiss him if he wanted it. Phil would give him what he needed. He trusted Phil, could rely on Phil. Phil had come back for him. 

Clint felt Phil's fingers slipping out of his ass and heard, to his embarrassment the small pitiful noise of disappointment that came out of his mouth when they did. 

"It's okay, I'm not going to leave you empty. I'm going to give you something to fill you up. Fill you up and keep you wide open so that I can fuck you later."

Clint moaned at that. Hearing Phil talk dirty went straight to his dick, which twitched against his stomach. Phil chuckled a low, deep, slightly dangerous-sounding chuckle which only served to turn Clint on more. Clint felt the tip of the vibrator nudging his hole, and he moaned again.

"Yeah Phil, give it to me. Fill me up. Yes..." Clint hissed the last syllable as Phil pushed the vibrator into him with slow, even pressure. It wasn't as good as Phil's cock, but it was good. Very, very good. Clint sighed as his ass clenched around the smaller neck of the toy and Phil settled the narrow base between his ass cheeks. 

There was a muffled 'click' and the vibrator throbbed. It was obviously a high-end model, because cheap toys just buzzed, which was fine for a short time, but tended to get either agonizing or numbing after a while, neither of which were any fun. The one Phil had just slid into him throbbed, sending pulses through him, snug as it was right up against his prostate. Clint moaned loudly.

"Too much?" Phil asked. His hands were on Clint's inner thighs, slowly rubbing up and down.

"No. No it's good. Really good."

"Good." Phil was about to go back to playing with Clint's dick for a bit, but he saw the look in Clint's eye. One that said, 'If you don't start hitting me in the next five seconds, I just might scream.' Phil knew the look. He had a tendency to take things a little too slowly sometimes, especially with a new partner, or when he wasn't completely sure of himself. So he smiled wickedly at Clint and reached for his nipples. Phil rubbed and pinched hard, then rubbed again. Clint gasped and moaned. Phil dragged his fingernails down Clint's sides, from armpit to hip-bones. Clint hissed. Phil picked up the small flogger and waited a beat to make sure Clint saw it, and to give him a chance to call safeword. Then he brought it down hard on the inside of Clint's left arm. Clint swore.

"Goddam! What is that thing? It stings like a motherfucker." 

"It's called a stinger. It's made like a flogger but instead of leather the tails are these thin, flexible plastic wands." Phil held the stinger over Clint's chest so that he could see it properly and flicked the wands with his thumb. Phil had picked this particular implement because of how light it was. It didn't have enough weight to bruise; it did all its work on the surface of the skin. No matter how hard he hit Clint with it, he knew he couldn't do any real damage.

"Feels like being slapped on a bad sunburn," Clint said.

"Do you want me to continue?"

"Yeah, oh yeah. Go for it. This is gonna be good."

Phil smiled at that.

"Yes," he said, his voice low and filthy and dangerous, "I'm going work you over good. I'm going to hit you until you scream, and then I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll feel it for a week."

"Phil. Fuck." Clint arched and shifted, looking for friction against his aching, hard dick. His squirming shifted the vibrator in his ass, and he moaned again. As soon as he stopped moving, Phil hit him, in the same spot, and went on hitting him, working up the inside of his arm almost to his elbow and then back down to his armpit. Clint was starting to breathe heavily as Phil switched hands and went to work on the other arm. By the time the insides of both arms were bright red, Clint was panting and moaning. 

Phil took a short break then, putting the stinger down and putting his hands back on Clint's skin. One pinched and rubbed each nipple in turn while the other fondled his hard dick and tight balls. Phil was being careful, assessing Clint's responses before continuing. Making sure he was balancing pleasure and pain, making sure, as far as he could, that Clint felt safe and cared for. Then he picked up the stinger again and hit. 

This time he started on Clint's right side near his armpit, and worked his way down to Clint's waist, leaving a bright red trail of abused skin. Phil didn't stop but dexterously switched the stinger to his left hand and started on Clint's left side, only avoiding the area that had been recently re-stitched and was still deeply bruised. Then he put the stinger down again, and this time, leaned over Clint, pressing close and kissing him on the lips. 

"How're you doing?" he asked when he pulled his mouth away from Clint's ravenous kisses.

"Good. Great. More. Please? Phil, more?"

"Yes, in a minute." Phil looked into Clint's bright eyes and couldn't help but kiss him again. The feelings of caring and tenderness he had for Clint were stronger than he remembered ever feeling while topping like this. He thought it had to do with the solid friendship that had developed between them in the past few months and the fact that he had been so concerned about Clint when he'd been captured. He loved having Clint here safe, under him, in his hands. He wanted to make this as good as possible. To give Clint everything he needed and more. Phil kissed his way along Clint's jaw, then down his neck and across his collarbone. He dropped a smattering of kisses across Clint's muscular chest, then fastened his lips to one nipple and began to suck. 

"God, Phil, yeah. So good." Phil would have smiled if his mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied. Instead, he shifted on his knees so that his own hard cock bumped Clint's. He reached down and wrapped a hand around both, stroking them together, slowly and lightly.

"Oh, fuck. Phil. Fuck. You're driving me crazy."

Phil sucked harder on Clint's nipple and then added a pinch of teeth. Clint keened and arched his back, then thrust his hips. And moaned again when that shifted the vibrator. And kept moaning, incoherent little snatches of sounds, of 'yeah' and 'more' and 'fuck' and 'Phil.'

Phil kept it up until his own self-control was starting to waver, and then with one last sharp pinch of his teeth he released Clint's abused nipple and sat back up. He kept both their hard cocks wrapped in his hand, stroking lightly as he picked up the stinger and hit Clint with it again, this time peppering Clint's chest with blows. 

"Fuck," Clint said, blowing out his breath and clenching his fists as the pain built. 

Phil didn't slow down; he just watched carefully, drinking in the sight of the gorgeous, pliant body beneath him as Clint's skin turned red from his handiwork.

"You're so gorgeous like this," Phil said, slowing down his strokes on their cocks to a smooth, sensuous slide that was a counterpoint to the quick, sharp blows of the stinger. "All laid out for me, every muscle taut, and straining, taking it. Taking it so well. So beautifully. I love looking at you, love seeing you like this." Phil's words were low and smooth, adding to the current that crackled between them. "I'm going to be able to slide right into you, take you deep and hard and fast. Is that what you want Clint?"

"God, yes. Phil. Want you to fuck me. Want you to fuck me so hard. Want you." 

"And I want you. Want to hurt you. Want to fuck you. Want to take care of you." Phil's words were a counterpoint to the blows he was raining down on Clint's chest, but he almost faltered when he realized that what he wanted to say next was: 'Want to love you.' 

Phil sucked in a deep breath. Focused on Clint's face. Slowed his strokes on their cocks even further, and hit Clint with the stinger harder, and with more precision, alternately centering each blow on Clint's wide pectoral muscles, directly over his nipples. Phil matched up the rhythms of his breathing, his hand, and his blows to find the calm he needed. Clint gasped and squirmed under him, pulling hard at the restraining cuffs and starting to make more noise. 

"Shit. Fuck, Phil. Feels like my skin is on fire," he gasped out between moans and the occasional sharp little cry that he was obviously trying to stifle. Phil watched carefully but kept hitting him.

"Don't hold back, Clint. Make as much noise as you want to." Phil realized that Clint would have stayed as silent as possible when he'd been beaten by his captors, not wanting to give them the satisfaction, and not wanting to betray what hurt most. 

It took a few more sharp strikes, but once the dam burst, Clint screamed just once, long and loud. Phil stopped hitting him then, but kept up the slow smooth stroking of their hard cocks, and waited a moment for Clint's eyes to open, and focus.

"You good?" Phil asked when they did.

"Oh yeah. So good." Clint was lax now, all the tension had left him with the noise he had allowed himself to make. "Need you, Phil. Need you to fuck me."

"I'm going to give you what you need," Phil said, his voice low and gravelly again as he dropped the stinger and ran the flat of his palm across the reddened skin of Clint's chest. He rubbed and pinched Clint's abused nipples, but Clint was floating high on endorphins, and merely hummed and smiled at the sensation. Phil smiled back and moved his hand from their dicks to the vibrator in Clint's ass, jogging it up and down a couple of times and making Clint moan.

Phil knew it wasn't fair to tease Clint any further, though, so he found the strip of condoms and quickly opened one and rolled it on. 

"I'm going to take the vibrator out now, Clint. Relax for me," Phil said, tugging gently on the base of the toy. It came out easily with a squelch of lube, and Phil switched it off and put it aside. He added some more lube to his own cock, then straddled Clint on hands and knees. "You ready for me?" Phil asked, his voice husky with desire.

"God, yeah, Phil. C'mon. Fill me up." Phil pressed forward, sliding in easily, and it felt like coming home. He moaned long and loud as he was surrounded by Clint's tight heat, and Clint's answering moan only made him feel more welcome. Made this feel right, as if this was where he belonged. On top of Clint, inside Clint, giving Clint what he needed and taking care of him. Phil realized in that moment that he was falling in love with the man who was panting under him and moaning his name. "C'mon Phil, fuck me. Fuck me."

Phil shifted his knees on the bed, spreading them wide and planting them firmly. He blanketed Clint's body with his, feeling the heat of Clint's reddened skin against his chest. He worked one arm under Clint's back and around his shoulder, to give himself a good grip, and slid the other hand into Clint's hair. 

"You want me to fuck you?"

"Yes, Phil, please. Fuck."

"You want me to pound you good?"

"Fuck me hard, fucking pound me, c'mon Phil, give it to me."

"Oh, I'll give it to you all right," Phil said, letting himself go, giving free reign to his lust and his need, plunging into Clint with a force that rocked the bed.

"Yes, fuck, yes." Clint wrapped his legs around Phil's waist and canted his hips up to give Phil a better angle to drive into him with punishingly hard strokes.

"Is that what you want? Is that what you need?" Phil gasped as he thrust into Clint, fucking hard.

"Yes, Phil. God, Yes. Want you. Need you. Yes. Yes." The last syllable was almost another scream as Clint clenched around Phil and started to come, his eyes snapping shut as he gasped and quaked through a long shuddering release. Phil fucked him through it with hard strokes, then buried his face in Clint's shoulder as he came with a spasm and a low cry.

For a long time neither of them moved; they just lay there, holding onto each other, breathing heavily. But Phil's sense of responsibility forced him to get moving and push slowly up and off. He dealt with the condom and then unbuckled the cuffs around Clint's wrists.

"Take your time, move slowly." 

Clint hummed in agreement and let his arms lay lax on the pillows. Phil rested a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm good, thanks."

"You're welcome. I'm going to the bathroom to get a damp cloth. Be right back."

"Sure." Clint was still a little out of it, but Phil was confident he was fine. He couldn't resist leaning down for a quick kiss before climbing off the bed. 

In the bathroom, Phil soaked a cloth in warm water and first ran it over his own face, trying to find some equilibrium. It wasn't the first time he'd fallen for someone he was topping, but this time was liable to be complicated. Phil had no idea if Clint was even interested in more than what they were currently doing. His mind went back to the first night Clint had spent in his bed, or rather to the discussion they'd had just as they were about to head into the bedroom, when Clint had said, 'If I'd known you were into me, I would have asked you out.' 

Phil didn't know what, if anything, he wanted to do about his newly developing feelings for Clint. He was going to have to take some time to think about it, make sure there was more to it than his usual caretaking impulse and how very attracted he was to Clint, physically. Figure out if dating his co-worker, his asset was viable... But not now. Now he had a responsibility to the man lying in his bed who he had just flogged and fucked. Phil quickly wiped himself down with the towel, and then rinsed it out in more warm water and took it with him to the bedroom.

Clint was more or less as he'd left him, except that he'd moved his arms into a more natural position by his sides. Phil sat on the side of the bed and gesture with the towel towards Clint's groin. 

"I'm going to clean you up a bit, okay? It's warm."

"Sure, go for it." Clint said with a soft smile and spread his legs a bit more to give Phil better access. Phil wiped the excess lube carefully from between Clint's butt cheeks, then cleaned up the mess on his stomach. He tossed the towel at the laundry hamper, and then grabbed the bottle of water from the bedside table.

"Ready to sit up and drink some water?"

"Sounds good." Clint used his abs to curl himself into a sitting position, and the way it made his skin shift drew a sharp hiss.

"I'm gonna feel that tomorrow, aren't I?"

"Probably. I've got some aloe gel that's really good, a cool shower helps a lot too."

"Yeah, maybe in the morning. Not moving further than this right now." Clint took the bottle of water out of Phil's hand and drained half of it before handing it back. "You should drink too."

Phil smiled, and as he sipped the water he tried to remember when Clint started looking out for him, bringing coffee or snacks to his office when he was working late, cooking for him when they were stuck in a safehouse on a mission, and somehow just being there if he needed something. It had been gradual, and seemed natural, as their friendship had developed and grown closer over the past few months. But Phil was only just now realizing how much it meant to him. Maybe the idea of their current arrangement turning into something more wasn't so far-fetched after all. Now was absolutely not the time to start that discussion, however.

Phil put the bottle aside, then re-arranged the pillows and blankets before settling himself down and holding his arms out.

"Come here," Phil said with a small warm smile made it an invitation, one that Clint was more grateful for than he wanted to admit to himself. Moving slowly he shifted into Phil's embrace, settling his head on Phil's shoulder and twining his fingers in the fuzz on Phil's chest. He closed his eyes as Phil's arms came around him, holding him close, and safe. 

"Thank you," Clint whispered against Phil's chest, and Phil tightened his arms and kissed the top of his head.

"You're welcome." 

"Knew you'd come for me. Knew all I had to do was wait, but..." Clint squeezed his eyes more tightly shut and spent a couple of minutes just breathing. Phil didn't say anything, just held him quietly, and rubbed small circles on his shoulder with one thumb.

"I would have been okay if it weren't for the damn bag over my head. Not being able to see what was coming. Not knowing if they were in the room - " Clint shook and his voice broke as he clung to Phil. "Knew you were coming," he whispered again after a minute.

"I'll always come for you, Clint. I promise. If I'm alive and I can walk, then I'm coming for you. No matter what."

"I know," Clint said. Phil's words were reassuring to hear, but it was the comfort of being held while he whispered his fears, of knowing that Phil would take care of him, that made him start to shake. He'd been alone and completely self-reliant for so damn long, that having this, having someone else to lean on, to trust, to draw comfort and strength from was terrifyingly seductive. Clint couldn't afford to lose his independence, but at the same time, he desperately wanted to let himself be weak and needy and have Phil make it better.

"I've got you, Clint. You're okay." Phil said softly and kissed the top of his head again. 

"I know," Clint whispered again. He snuggled even closer to Phil, throwing one leg over Phil's and insinuating the arm that wasn't wrapped around Phil's chest between the mattress and Phil's shoulder so that he could hold on with both hands. They were both quiet for a long time, just holding each other. 

Eventually Phil asked quietly, "Is there anything else I can do for you Clint? Anything else you need?"

Phil being so careful and gentle with him, and giving him so much, offering him whatever he needed... It made Clint want to cry, but it also made him want to run away and hide, to stop letting Phil see how weak and vulnerable and needy he really was. 

"No," Clint eventually answered. "No, I'm okay. Or at least I will be, now." Clint lifted his head off Phil's shoulder to that he could look into his eyes. "Thank you. For everything."

"You're welcome," Phil said again, stretching down to kiss Clint's forehead. Clint tilted his head back and intercepted the kiss, catching it on his lips and making the soft kiss Phil had no doubt intended into something with considerably more heat. 

When Clint finally released a somewhat breathless Phil, there was a shadow of his trademark cocky grin on his lips.

"Goodnight, Phil," he said, still grinning.

"Goodnight Clint."

~~~~~~

The next morning, in the cold light of day, Phil convinced himself that Clint's attention was just friendship and nothing more. He knew Clint didn't have many friends outside the Agency, and not all that many inside it, either. Theirs was a lonely profession, and one of the reasons that Phil had never discouraged Clint when he started dropping by with coffee and donuts or lunch or just to sit and do his own paperwork on Phil's sofa, was that he enjoyed having Clint around. Having someone there to eat lunch with or share a joke with. 

It must be the same for Clint, he reasoned, and that was all there was to Clint's spending more time with him. After all, how likely was it that Clint was actually interested in his balding, middle-aged handler, beyond their arrangement? Clint could obviously get as much... companionship as he wanted from younger, more attractive people, both on and off base. Phil had seen Clint's harmless, good-natured flirting with both men and women more times than he could count. No, whatever he felt for Clint, he needed to keep it under wraps and under control. He loved that Clint trusted him with what he needed after a bad op, and loved giving it to him and taking care of him after. Phil didn't want to upset the delicate balance of that with their friendship and their work life by trying to turn it into something that it wasn't. 

Or that's what he told himself, anyway. It was possible he was lying to himself, just a little. It was possible that he was deathly afraid that what he felt was entirely one-sided, and that he'd be making an utter fool of himself if he asked Clint for something more, and got laughed at. No, not laughed at. Clint would never do that. Clint would be gentle and apologetic and let him down easy. Phil knew he wouldn't be able to bear that, so it was better not to take the risk. That's what he would have said to himself if he were being honest about his feelings.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hawkeye, report. What do you see?" Coulson's voice came through the comms amid yells and explosions and the chatter of gunfire, over the sound of other people barking orders and demanding updates and calling for backup and screaming for help and crying and praying.

"There's still coming — like angry hornets out of a nest, boss. I don't know how many were in there, but more than we thought, that's for sure." While Clint was talking, he shot three of the AIM agents who were streaming out of the compound, guns blazing.

Coulson didn't reply to Clint's non sequitur, not that he expected one. 

"Keep them busy as long as you can, we're still trying to get all our people under cover."

"Roger that, I'm good here until I run out of arrows." 

"How many?" Coulson's voice sounded tight and tense, and Clint didn't blame him. The mission had turned into a complete disaster. Not only were they facing ten times the opposition they'd expected, but they had a communications failure as well. Local comms were working, but they'd somehow lost touch with base and couldn't call for backup.

"Eight," said Clint. "Make that seven," as he let fly again and speared another bad guy through the throat.

"Make them count. Coulson out."

It was a measure of how bad things were that Coulson had even felt the need to remind Clint to make each shot count. As he nocked, drew, and fired his seventh arrow, he made a quick inventory of the rest of his weapons: sidearm with two spare clips, belt knife, four throwing knives, and a garrote. He hoped it wouldn't come to the garrote. He tried to focus on his targets and blank out the rest of what he was hearing on the comms. He knew that they had several agents injured and at least one dead. He couldn't see Coulson from where he was perched, and he stamped down hard on the ball of worry in the pit of his stomach.

'Phil can take care of himself. Just do your job and spare him as many extra headaches as you can.' Clint thought, 'And as many dead and injured agents...' He fired his fifth and fourth arrows in quick succession, taking out two guys who were trying to over-run a patch of cover sheltering an injured SHIELD agent. The agent must be a communications specialist because despite what looked like a very nasty leg wound, she seemed to be in the process of disassembling and re-wiring a radio.

There was a tiny lull in the fighting, and Clint kept his eyes fixed on the door of the AIM compound, hoping fervently that there were no more bad guys in there. When things stayed relatively quiet for another three seconds, he decided that now was a good time to come down from his perch. He didn't want to scramble to do it when he actually ran out of arrows, especially since his sidearm didn't have the range to be effective from where he was. 

He dropped easily to the ground near the agent with the injured leg and took a moment to check on her. 

"Any luck with the radio?"

"Not yet, but if you can keep those bastards from shooting me for another two or three minutes, I might be able to manage something."

"No problem," Clint gave her his best 'Amazing Hawkeye' grin and got a small smile back before she bent back to the radio. Clint went back to picking off bad guys with his last few arrows. 

"I need status on communications with Base," Coulson's voice came over the radio on the open channel. "King? Ortiz? Anyone?" Clint winced at the brittleness he could hear in Coulson's voice, but the woman tapped him on the shin.

"I cannibalized the broadcast chip on my comm to try to fix this," she said, gesturing at the partially-assembled radio she was working on. "I can receive but not send. Tell him two or three minutes." Clint nodded.

"This is Hawkeye. I'm with Agent - " He looked down and she mouthed 'King' at him, "Agent King. She can't transmit, but she's working on getting comms back up. ETA two or three minutes."

"Roger that." Coulson's words were almost drowned out by the "whoosh" of an RPG launcher, and without thought, Clint spun and drew and put his second-to-last arrow between the shoulder blades of the AIM agent wielding it. There were more screams over the comms.

"I've gotta get out there and help," Clint said to King. "You gonna be okay here?"

"Yeah, but if you take off, I can't let anyone know when I've gotten through to base."

"Here," Clint said, stripping off his own comm unit and dropping it next to her. "I've got my orders already."

Clint fired his last arrow, pinning the guy who was belly crawling towards the RPG launcher. Then he slung his bow over his shoulder and crawled out from behind cover, determined to keep Agent King safe. The next five minutes were the kind of fighting he hated most, but was trained for and remarkably good at. Hawkeye cut through the remaining opposition, moving quickly and stealthily, selecting each target with care, and dispatching the bad guys with cold-blooded ruthlessness. He kept a constant watch on King's position, and an eye out for Coulson, who was no doubt somewhere in the fray, doing the same thing he was: coolly and efficiently killing to keep their people safe. 

Since he'd left his comm unit, he didn't know backup was arriving until he heard the whine of Quinjet engines and saw a SHIELD assault team swinging out of the sky to take over and mop up the rest of the mess. Once he was sure the backup team had things well under control, Clint jogged back to where he'd left Agent King to make sure that she was okay. He arrived as she was being loaded onto a stretcher, and she tossed his comm unit back to him.

"Here, better put this on, Coulson's asking if anyone's seen you."

Clint grinned at her and gave her a 'thumbs up' as he stuck his earpiece in. 

"Hawkeye reporting in," he said when there was a brief break in the babble of voices coordinating the mop up. 

"Hawkeye, status report." Clint thought he could hear a hint of relief in Coulson's request.

"We're good here," Clint answered, not bothering to try to keep the smile out of his voice. "I'm back with Agent King, and she's being loaded up for transport back to Medical. Orders?"

"Assist with the rest of the injured as needed," came the curt, somewhat distracted reply. 

"Acknowledged," Clint said and waited until after he'd clicked off 'transmit' before sighing. Coulson sounded bad, which was no surprise at all considering how much of a disaster this op had turned into. Sparing a brief thought for his friend, Clint jogged back to the battlefield to help carry the injured to the waiting Quinjets. Once they were all safely loaded, however, Clint was loath to take a seat for himself and ride back to Base, even though their original team had been cleared to leave once the backup team declared the site secure. Clint knew that Coulson wouldn't be leaving until the mop-up was finished, and Clint thought... He didn't know what he thought. He knew that Coulson was in rough shape and he just wanted to be there. To help. Or something.

Clint knew that Coulson probably didn't need or want his help. Or even if there was any way Clint could actually help, which he probably couldn't. It wasn't like Coulson needed anything like what Clint did after a bad op. Come to think of it, Clint had no idea how Coulson dealt with the stress of a bad op. He thought back to some past missions that had gone badly sideways. He'd never seen Coulson get drunk, or hit the gym, or yell at some hapless junior, or any of the other typical ways SHIELD agents blew off steam. Of course Coulson might go home to his apartment and get shit-faced. Or go out to a club and pick someone up for a night of wild sex, but Clint couldn't picture either - and he'd actually had wild sex with Coulson.

In fact, the one thing he could remember Coulson doing was ensconcing himself in his office for hours—sometimes days—after a bad op. Doing paperwork. It seemed ridiculous, but also entirely in character, that Coulson would deal with a fucked-up situation by crossing all the 'i's and dotting all the 't's on after-action reports and summary memos.

So while the mop-up team continued to work, Clint scoured the area for spent arrows. It was an old habit, first from the circus and then from his days as a mercenary, to collect his arrows if he could. For one thing, it was good for operational security: not letting the bad guys know that Hawkeye was around. For another, his arrows weren't cheap, and though SHIELD was good for it, Clint's inherent frugality wouldn't let him throw away a perfectly good shaft that just needed re-fletching or an un-damaged head that could be mounted on a new shaft.

Not that he was ghoulish enough to pull his arrows out of bodies (he'd done it, in the past, when necessary; now it definitely wasn't necessary), but wounded bad guys sometimes pulled them out themselves, and the medics sometimes pulled them out to make transport easier (they had a bad habit of cutting through the shaft with bolt-cutters, but Clint had learned not to complain about that). SHIELD's humanitarian policy was to take care of any wounded bad guys as soon as their own personnel were accounted for if circumstances permitted. So Clint wandered around the battlefield, keeping one ear on the comms and his eyes on the ground for spent arrows.

Eventually he found everything he was willing to pick up and headed for the last waiting Quinjet. There was really nothing he could do here; he might as well go back to base, have a shower, get some sleep, and try to think up some excuse to go talk to Coulson in his office as soon as the man himself got back. Clint was just lying back on one of the uncomfortable bench seats when Coulson's voice came through the comms. 

"Pilot, Quinjet 3, do you read?"

"Yes, sir," came the reply in stereo for Clint from his comm unit and the cockpit. 

"Start your pre-flight check, we'll be taking off shortly."

"Roger."

Clint heaved himself vertical and stood by the open cargo bay door, holding onto a strut and watching as Coulson and five members of the mop-up team carried three covered stretchers. He moved out of the way as the first one was brought aboard and carefully lowered to the floor in the tail of the jet. He stayed out of the way as the second followed and kept a tight grip on the strut he was holding to stop himself from rushing over to support Coulson when he stumbled as he heaved his end of the third stretcher onto the deck. He waited, instead, until all three were secured and Coulson had sat down heavily on a bench. Clint sat down next to him. Close, but not touching. He didn't say anything, just uncapped a canteen and offered it to Coulson, who took it and drank deeply before handing it back.

"Thank you," Coulson said, and Clint was pretty sure that he wasn't just being thanked for the water. He still didn't know what to do, though, so he just sat there. Sometimes the warm solid presence of a friend at your side was the only thing that helped a little. Or so Clint had learned in these last few months since he and Coulson had become... whatever it was they were to each other these days. Coulson tiredly raised a hand to his ear.

"Pilot you are free to take off at your discretion." 

"Acknowledged."

Coulson slumped. Clint had never seen him this tired, this beat, this... defeated-looking. He stamped down hard on an impulse to gather Coulson into his arms, and instead tipped his head back against the bulkhead and closed his eyes.

"You okay?" 

Clint's eyes snapped back open, and he turned his head to see Coulson looking at him.

"Me? Yeah, I'm okay. I'm fine. How 'bout you?" Clint tried to keep his tone casual but figured he didn't quite manage it when Coulson didn't answer, just turned so that he was staring across the cargo bay at the opposite bulkhead. 

Ten minutes into the flight Clint felt a warm weight on his side. Coulson was asleep and listing towards him. Clint slipped his arm around Coulson's back and gently nudged Coulson's head onto his shoulder. He checked to make sure no one was looking in their direction before pressing the ghost of a kiss to Coulson's hair. Forty minutes later Clint's shoulder was cramping, but he'd let it fall off before he moved. He didn't need to test the theory, though, because the pilot's voice crackled over the comms, startling Coulson awake. 

"Base in five."

Coulson straightened and shifted away slightly as he raised his hand to his earpiece. Clint withdrew the arm from around Coulson's back and kept his eyes straight ahead. 

"I'm going to go forward and check on everyone before we land," Coulson said, pushing himself to his feet but putting one hand on Clint's knee to do it. The knee got a slight squeeze, and Clint smiled into Coulson's tired face. "Thanks again," Coulson said before turning away, and it made Clint's heart ache for his friend.

They landed and the usual post-mission routine went into full swing. Gear inventory and clean-up, showers and medical checks, preliminary de-briefing, then the order to go home and sleep. Clint knew damn well that Coulson was going to ignore that, so he did too. He kept a covert but watchful eye as his handler headed back to Medical, presumably to check on the status of the wounded agents. Clint hummed and hawed, telling himself he should just go home, but in the end he decided that his best course of action was simply to ask Coulson if there was anything he could do to help. 

He lurked in the corridors until he spotted Coulson getting a cup of coffee from the vending machine near his office. Clint hesitated a minute, then he went to the cafeteria and got a large coffee with two creams and two sugars, and an apricot Danish. Phil preferred cheese & apple, but they were out. Phil also took his coffee plain and black, but Clint figured he could use the boost from the sugar and that the cream would help his stomach, especially after vending machine coffee. Back at Phil's office door, Clint hesitated again before giving himself a kick in the pants and knocking with his distinctive 'rat-a-tat-tat'. Phil would know it was him and could choose to not answer the door if he didn't want to be disturbed.

A minute later the door opened to reveal a tired-but-trying-to-hide it Phil Coulson. Clint saw him slump just a little, letting his guard down slightly when he saw who it was.

"Barton. Do you need something?" Phil asked, and Clint's heart sank.

"No, boss, I'm good. I just thought you could use a snack," Clint gestured with the clamshell container in his hand.

"I... thank you." Phil took the pastry and coffee from him and put it on his desk. Clint took the opportunity to follow Phil into his office, swinging the door shut behind him.

"Is, uh... is there anything else I can do for you?" 

Phil turned a small, tired smile on him. "Thank you, Clint, but no. Go home. Get some sleep."

"Um, look, Phil... I know you don't need, uh... what I, uh, need after a bad op. But if there's anything I can do. Anything at all, you know all you have to do is ask, right?

Phil's expression softened, then. A little bit more of the Agent Coulson mask he had been clinging to since the op went wrong fell away. "Thank you, Clint. That means a lot to me, but there's nothing you can do."

"Okay. Just thought I'd, you know, ask. Look, in case you change your mind, I'm gonna hang out on base for a bit while I write my after-action. I'll be in the caf or the lounge." With his hand on the doorknob, he turned back to Phil, "I'd do anything for you, Phil," he said softly, meaning it with a ferocity that scared him a little.

Phil held his eyes for a minute, unflinching, then smiled a little.

"Well, if you're going to be on base anyway, I suppose you could keep me company while you write your after-action," he said with a glance at his sofa, which bore a decidedly Clint-shaped dent in one corner.

"Yeah, yeah I could totally do that," Clint said with a wide grin. He flopped down on the sofa and called up the files on his tablet. Phil sat back down at his desk, dropped the vending-machine coffee in the trash, and took a sip of the one Clint had brought him. 

"Thank you," he said quietly, and went back to work.

Eight hours later, after the third time Coulson had nodded off over his keyboard, Clint hauled him bodily out of his chair and steered him towards the sofa.

"I'm fine. I need to get the reports done."

"You can't type if you can't see straight, boss. You've been awake for what, 36 hours? You need a nap."

"32 and I'm perfectly fine, I - "

"I'll wake you in four hours, I promise," Clint said.

"Two," Phil countered.

"Three," Clint said with a grin. 

Phil didn't have a quick comeback to that, possibly because his eyes were drifting shut again now that he was sitting on soft cushions. 

"Okay, let's get you horizontal and a little more comfortable." Clint grabbed the blanket and pillow that had taken up permanent residence on the arm of the sofa and urged Phil to lie down. Phil had already stripped off his jacket and tie, and unbuttoned his collar and shirtsleeves, so Clint contented himself with taking off his shoes before hoisting his legs up onto the sofa. Then he spread the blanket over an already three-quarters asleep Phil. 

"Have a good nap," Clint said, brushing a stray wisp of hair away from his forehead. Phil roused.

"Three hours. No more," he said, looking up into Clint's eyes.

"Three hours, I promise Phil."

"Thanks."

"Anytime," Clint said, settling himself into a chair to wait and watch over Phil while he slept.

True to his word, exactly three hours later Clint said, "Phil, time to wake up," before reaching out to shake his handler by the shoulder. Phil's eyes snapped open, instantly alert, and quickly swept the room before settling back on Clint's face.

"Three hours?"

"Just like I promised."

"Okay." Phil levered himself into a sitting position and bent to put his shoes back on. Once he was back behind his desk, computer switched on and starting to type, Clint stretched.

"I'm gonna go stretch my legs for a couple of minutes, and stop by the cafeteria for coffee and some food. You in the mood for anything in particular?"

Phil's eyes shifted from the computer screen to Clint.

"You don't have to stay."

"Do you want me to go?"

"I... I like having you here."

"Then I'll be back in ten with food. Any requests?"

"Anything but the tuna casserole, and if they have pie..."

"Don't worry, boss. I know to always bring you pie if they have it. Back soon."

~~~~~

Phil's nap had been eight hours ago. Clint had gone out for coffee twice and food once more in the interim, cleared up a six-month backlog of his own paperwork, and played enough Angry Birds to last him a lifetime. He was starting to think he might be melding with the sofa when he heard Phil make a small frustrated-sounding noise. 

"Phil?"

"Sorry. I'm having trouble with this last Letter of Condolence."

"Doesn't Fury usually do those?" 

"Yes, but I always write one as well when an agent dies on one of my ops. It's the least I can do. They're never easy, but I hardly knew Agent Serino and I'm afraid I've made a complete mess of this one." Coulson sighed and scrubbed a tired hand across his face.

"Well, you know words aren't really my thing, boss, but I knew Jason a bit. If you want me to take a look at it..." Clint let his offer hang.

"Would you? Thanks. I'm... I don't think I'm being very objective any more."

Clint stood up and went round behind Phil's desk so that he could read over his shoulder.

`Dear Mr. and Mrs. Serino,`

`I am writing to express my most sincere condolences on the loss of your son, Jason. I was in charge of the mission that took his life, and I was close by when he died. I want to assure you that his death was fast and painless - he never knew that hit him.`

Clint knew that part was a lie, but a harmless one. No one wanted to know that someone they loved had died screaming in pain.

`I didn't know Jason well, but I chose him for the mission because of his outstanding record at SHIELD. Everyone who worked with him knew him to be a supremely competent Agent, trustworthy and calm under pressure. He exemplified those qualities on the day he died, fighting bravely alongside his fellow Agents, holding his position and never wavering in the face of overwhelming odds. I am so sorry for your loss, but I'm glad Jason was fighting with us that day, because myself and 23 other agents owe our lives to Jason's courage and sacrifice. `

`If there is anything at all that I can do to assist you in this difficult time, please do not hesitate to contact me.`

`With Deepest Regret,`

`Phil Coulson  
Agent, S.H.I.E.L.D.`

Clint swallowed around the lump in his throat. 

"Phil that's... That's perfect."

"You're sure it's okay? It's kind of impersonal. Usually I try to add something I know about the Agent, mention a conversation we had once, talk about their favorite candy bar, something so they know he wasn't just a number to me, but I didn't know Jason. I just picked him for the op because he had a good record and we needed the bodies... The personal, I mean." Phil's voice wavered.

"It's great, Phil really. I'm sure his parents are going to be touched to receive it."

"Okay. Thanks." Phil reached out and hit the print button. He swiveled his chair around and fed a piece of SHIELD letterhead into his printer. He waited for the page to print, then moved his keyboard aside and laid the letter on his desk blotter. He took his good pen out of his desk drawer, uncapped it, and signed his name. Then he carefully, neatly, precisely folded the letter in thirds. He opened another drawer for an envelope. Slid the letter in. Licked the glue and sealed the flap. With a hand that was shaking ever so slightly, he dropped the envelope on top of two others in his 'Out' tray. 

And with that, whatever had been keeping him going, whatever had been driving him to do what he felt he needed to do, stopped. He slumped like a marionette with the strings cut, so suddenly that Clint was worried for a second that he'd actually passed out. But no, his eyes were open, if somewhat glazed.

"Come on, let's get you over to the couch for another nap, okay?" Clint didn't wait for an answer, just put his hands in Phil's armpits and hauled him upright, walking him over to the sofa. 

Phil slumped onto the sofa and rubbed his hands across his face, but when Clint moved to get the blanket, Phil caught his hand.

"Sit with me for a bit?"

"Of course." Clint sat down next to Phil on the sofa, close enough that their shoulders and knees were touching, though Phil had released his hand.

"He was 27 years old," Phil said.

"Jason?" Clint asked, just to be sure. Phil nodded.

"And he's dead because I picked him for the mission."

"Not your fault."

"No. Not my fault, but my responsibility. Every single one, every single time. My responsibility." Phil sounded so tired. Clint didn't know what to say or do. "When we... After a bad op when we, uh... do what we do. How does that fix it, for you?"

Clint swallowed. This was something he'd never thought he'd have to explain, hell, he didn't even really understand it himself. But Phil had asked, so he had to try.

"It, uh... it doesn't fix it. Not entirely. Um... Well, for one thing it makes me stop thinking about it for a bit. That's why I need the pain, as well as the sex. Just sex, even really good sex, you can still get distracted, you know? Still be somewhere else in your head?"

Phil nodded.

"But the pain focuses me. Stops me from thinking about anything else. Stops me from thinking about whatever it is that fucked me in the head. And then the sex... You know how a great orgasm kind of... takes you somewhere else? Like to a different... level. I'm sorry, I'm not making any sense."

"No, you are. Please, keep going." Phil turned to look at Clint, his eyes wide and sad.

"Um... okay. So that kinda gives me some, uh... distance... from whatever it was."

"Distance." Phil nodded. "Doing the paperwork sort of does that for me. In a way." Phil was slumped on the sofa, staring straight ahead, talking in a flat, tired voice. "Filling in all the forms. Answering all the questions. What went right. What went wrong. Why it went wrong. How to fix it for next time. Making sense out of the chaos by describing it precisely and logically. Getting it all down in black and white. Helps me put it all in perspective. Put it away. Usually." Phil was quiet for a bit.

"Sometimes people get hurt. Sometimes people die. My responsibility." This time Phil was quiet for a long time, and Clint glanced over to make sure he was still awake. He was; his eyes were open, and he was staring at the wall as if he'd forgotten Clint was there. "I've never lost three agents on a single mission before," Phil said in a quiet rasp, as if he was having trouble getting his throat to work.

Then Phil started to shake, and Clint wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close.

"It's okay. I'm here. I've got you. You're okay." Clint murmured the meaningless reassurances into Phil's hair and held on tight. Phil didn't stop shaking, and though he was completely silent, Clint realized that the dampness he could feel seeping into his t-shirt must mean that Phil was crying. "I've got you," Clint said again, feeling helpless, "It's okay." Clint rubbed Phil's back in long slow strokes, wishing he could think of something helpful to say. After a while, the shaking stopped, but Clint continued to hold Phil and rub his back until he heard a muffled 'sorry'.

"Hey," Clint said, dropping a light kiss on Phil's temple. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about."

"For breaking down on you, I meant," Phil said, pulling away and straightening up. He dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his eyes.

"You're allowed to be human." Clint said. "You're allowed to need a shoulder to cry on sometimes." There was something in Phil's eyes. Something deep and sad and... Clint didn't know what else. It was something he didn't recognize. Phil swallowed, and then cleared his throat.

"I've uh... I've never really had someone..." Phil blew out his breath. "Someone I trusted enough to cry on." He cleared his throat again. "Thank you for being here when I needed you."

Clint quashed his instinct to answer with a joke and instead held Phil's gaze.

"Always, Phil. I promise. Always." 

The intensity of the moment was broken by an enormous yawn from Phil. 

"Sorry," he said and looked at his watch. "We've got ten hours until the post-mission debrief. That gives me just enough time to go home and get eight hours sleep and a shower before I have to be back."

"Good plan." Clint said, standing up and stretching. He waited while Phil unrolled his shirtsleeves and put his suit jacket back on. He looked at his tie with distaste and stuffed it into his pocket. He cleared his desk and switched his computer off.

"Thanks again," Phil said at the door of his office. It looked for a moment like he was going to say something else, but instead he just nodded. Again, Clint forced himself not to hide in a flip answer.

"You're welcome." There were other words. Words that were threatening to come out, and Clint was afraid they might if he spent another second standing there, looking into Phil's eyes. So instead he pulled Phil into a fierce hug which was returned just as strongly.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked, his lips brushing Phil's ear.

"Yes. I'll see you later."

"Yeah. Later." Clint let go and stepped back. Phil smiled one last tired smile, and left.


	6. Chapter 6

Things went back to normal. Sort of. An approximation of normal. A state where Clint spent a lot of time pretending that nothing had changed while trying to process the fact that everything had. He loved Phil. That was fine, that wasn't new. That was, in fact, normal. Phil was his friend, his handler, his confidant. The shoulder he cried on, and the person he trusted to take care of him when he needed it. He was fine with loving Phil. 

However, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the fact the he was also in love with Phil. Seeing Phil made his day better. Spending time with Phil made him happy. Phil smiling at him made his heart beat faster, and... well, it was probably a good thing that Phil hadn't had any reason to touch him recently, because Clint was pretty sure he'd lose it and start confessing his feelings next time that happened.

But apart from that, things went back to normal. They had a two-week mandatory break after the mission that involved loss of life with psych evals, firearm re-certification, and a few days of enforced leave. That was normal too, except for how antsy the enforced leave made Clint because it meant that he didn't actually see Phil for over a week. He spent a lot of time in the gym, and at the range. He even thought about going out to a bar and picking someone up for meaningless, tension-relieving sex, but the idea made his stomach clench uncomfortably. That's when he knew he was in real trouble.

Gradually, though, he got used to it. The longing, the nights when he closed his eyes alone in bed and wanted so fiercely that he couldn't help but remember the times with Phil. Phil touching him. Phil kissing him. Phil fucking him. Phil holding him afterwards. Sleeping curled up in Phil's arms, in Phil's bed. He'd touch himself with images of Phil playing in his mind and come with a sharp, desperate cry muffled by his pillow. And the next day, he'd find an excuse to flop down on the sofa in Phil's office and trade gossip and jokes with his friend. The best friend he'd ever had.

After the two-week break, they went back to work. A couple of simple missions in a row — Clint suspected that Fury and Hill and Sitwell were conspiring to ease Phil gently back into the saddle — then a trip to Venezuela to check out a private mountain-top observatory that was taking delivery of a suspiciously large number of lasers, which turned out to be a group of over-zealous UFO spotters. Clint was starting to get antsy at that point, so when the next mission was a sniper detail he was actually relieved. 

~~~~~~

Six hours of crouching on a fire escape in the rain with his bow aimed wasn't Clint's idea of a fun time, but he didn't really mind. It was his job, and he was the best in the world at what he did, which meant that they sent him on ops like this. Ones where he got to spend six hours out in the rain, waiting for a mark to show (or not, as the case may be). He also didn't really mind because he had Phil's voice in his ear. He had Phil to talk to and banter with and, even when they weren't talking, just be. 

"I'm going operation-wide for a minute to do the hourly status checks," Phil said, warning Clint that it might take him a minute to respond if Clint called him on the private channel.

"Roger that, sir. Tell Lundström she owes me ten bucks. That pigeon absolutely did not have three legs."

"You can settle your wagers yourself, Barton," Phil said drily, but Clint could hear the hint of humor in his voice. "Back in five." 

Clint smiled to himself and tried to think of a joke that would make Phil laugh when he came back on the comms. He loved making Phil laugh. An hour later he still hadn't thought of one, but the mark showed and pushed all other thoughts out of his mind.

"Coulson, I've got eyes on a subject matching the description of our target." Clint was all business when the situation warranted it, and an outright assassination was one of those situations. SHIELD didn't take any chances of getting the wrong person when it came to taking out enemy agents. "Crossing the street towards the bakery now."

"I see her." Clint could hear the faint rustle as Phil compared what he saw through his binoculars to the photo of their mark. "I concur with your identification of the subject," There was a click on the line and Clint knew Phil had switched their comms back over to operation-wide. "Subject identified. Clean-up team be ready to go in. Agent Barton, do you have the shot?"

Phil asked, every time, even though he knew damn well Clint would have said something if he didn't.

"Yes, sir, I have the shot."

"Take the shot Barton."

Clint exhaled, aimed, and fired. He watched the body crumple to the ground.

"Subject down."

"Acknowledged. Clean up team, go in. Agent Barton return to command center."

Clint grinned. The 'command center' was a suite in a nearby hotel from which Coulson was observing and coordinating the mission. It meant Clint was going to get a hot shower, some dry clothes, and maybe even a snack before heading back to Headquarters. He packed up his bow and made his way to the room via rooftops and the emergency stairs. He knocked on the hotel room door with his distinctive 'rat-a-tat-tat' before letting himself in with the keycard Coulson had given him.

"Don't just stand there dripping, go take a hot shower," Coulson said, looking up from his laptop where he was no doubt already writing mission reports. "I've left a change of clothes in the bathroom for you."

Clint grinned and did what he was told. When he got out of the bathroom, warm and dry save for his hair, he found a room service tray sitting on the table.

"I thought you'd like some hot food after being out in the rain all day." Coulson lifted the cover off the tray to reveal a burger and fries.

"Thanks boss, you're the best." Clint smiled a warm, fond smile as he sat down and tucked into his food.

Two hours later they were ensconced in Phil's office, mission completed successfully, all done but the paperwork. Clint finished his in record time but didn't move from Phil's sofa, reluctant to leave even though he was tired after a long day. Eventually, though, he heaved himself to his feet.

"I, uh... I guess I'm gonna call it a day, boss," he said, yawning and stretching. 

Coulson looked up, and Clint thought he saw a hint of disappointment in Coulson's face before a small smile appeared. 

"Of course, Clint. Have a good night." Clint nodded and turned to leave, but he hesitated with his hand on the door handle. He didn't want to go home to his lonely apartment. He could stay until Phil finished his paperwork at least, and then maybe they could grab some food together and...

"Clint, is everything okay?"

"I... uh... yeah, 'course." Clint said, turning. "It's just..." 

"Clint," Phil said gently, "do you need to come home with me tonight?"

"Ah..." Clint said, and dropped his gaze.

"I can be finished here in ten minutes."

"No... ah. Thanks Phil. But I don't..." Clint blew out a breath with a bit of a laugh. "If I said yes, it wouldn't be because I really needed it. It would just be because... Because sometimes it sucks to go home to an empty apartment, you know? Anyway, thanks. Goodnight Phil." Clint got the door part-way open this time before Phil's voice stopped him.

"Clint, wait." Clint turned. 

"Come home with me. Just for pizza and beer and a movie. I," Coulson had a sheepish look on his face "I'm not so keen on going home to an empty apartment either, sometimes."

"Um... if you're sure." Clint got a nod. "Then, okay. Great. Sounds like fun."

~~~~~~

Clint took a long, satisfying swig of his beer and put the bottle back down on the coffee table. Then he sank into the cushions and leaned his head back, where it came to rest against Phil's arm. Clint very carefully didn't tense. Or move. He'd forgotten that Phil had stretched his arm out along the back of the sofa ten minutes ago after he'd finished his pizza and got them each a second beer from the fridge. They weren't sitting too close together, and up until now they hadn't been touching. They were just two friends, watching a movie, eating pizza and drinking beer together after work. The fact that the undercurrent of sexual tension between them was so thick that Clint felt he was choking on it... Well, if Phil was uncomfortable with Clint leaning against his arm, he could say something. Or move his arm. They were both adults, after all.

Phil didn't say anything. Or move. He kept his eyes on the movie. Clint tried to do the same, but he kept stealing sideways glances at Phil's face. The longing that he'd been keeping bottled up came surging to the surface, and he felt helpless to suppress it. With Phil looking so damn adorably domestic in the t-shirt and sweats he'd changed into, his hair a bit mussed, and a small smudge of tomato sauce on one corner of his mouth... Maybe... Maybe...

"What?" Phil turned to look at Clint, who had given up any pretense of watching the movie and rolled his head to the side, staring at Phil with his cheek pressed against Phil's arm. Clint swallowed, and his keen eyes saw Phil track the bob of his Adam's apple.

"I would really love to suck your cock right now," Clint said.

Phil's eyes went wide, but he didn't answer.

"You wouldn't have to, uh... do anything. You could keep watching the movie, even. I'd just..." Clint glanced down at the floor between Phil's knees then quickly back up. He bit his lower lip to stop himself from actually begging and waited for Phil to laugh. Or ask him to leave. Either way he... Phil's arm moved under his head, and this time Clint did tense. But the warm solid weight of Phil's hand settled on the back of his neck, and Phil's thumb rubbed through the short hairs at the base of his skull. Clint had to bite back a moan.

"I've got a better idea," Phil said, his voice low and rough. "Come here." The hand on the back of his neck urged Clint forward, not that he needed much urging. Phil met him halfway. Phil's lips moved surely against his own, nibbling and caressing, slightly parted in invitation. Clint reciprocated enthusiastically, opening his mouth to taste Phil's and surging forward on the sofa to move into his arms. He moaned when Phil's tongue thrust into his mouth, and sucked on it eagerly. He slid one hand into Phil's hair. He tried to press closer and ended up straddling Phil's lap, chest-to-chest, his knees deep in the sofa cushions. Phil's hands were under his shirt, skimming up and down his back before pushing the fabric up. Clint got the hint and drew back far enough to strip it off, then reached for Phil's. 

"You're right," he said, already a bit breathless. "This is a much better idea. God. Phil." Phil's hips bucked up, and the sweatpants he was wearing did nothing to hide how hard he was. Clint kissed him again, pressing their bare chests together and rocking his groin slowly against Phil's, moving sinuously like a cat, and making Phil moan into his mouth. Clint kept his movements slow despite how turned on he was, despite how much he desperately wanted this. More. Everything. But he also wanted to make this last. To draw it out and enjoy it for as long as he could because he'd wanted it for so long. So he rocked against Phil, whose hips rocked in counterpoint. He kissed Phil deeply, and Phil kissed back just as deeply, just as hungrily. 

Phil's hands slid down Clint's back to his ass and pulled him in tight, at the same time tearing his mouth away and tipping his head back. 

"Bedroom?" 

"Fuck, yes." Clint said. He dipped his head to lick a stripe up Phil's exposed neck before climbing out of his lap. Clint grabbed Phil's hand and pulled him off the sofa before leading the way. He didn't stop until he was standing next to the bed, then he turned around to find Phil looking at him with hunger in his eyes. Clint dropped gracefully to his knees and put his hands on Phil's hips, fingers sliding under the waistband of his sweats.

"Can I, please?" 

Phil nodded. He expected Clint to push his pants down, but instead Clint leaned forward and rubbed his face into the fabric that was stretched over his hard cock. Clint was making small, satisfied sounds and it was so damned erotic that Phil was worried he wouldn't be able to hold out for more than a few seconds once he actually felt Clint's mouth. He put one hand on Clint's head, not guiding, just resting, and scratched lightly at Clint's scalp with blunt fingernails. Clint rubbed against him again, still cat-like, and Phil couldn't help but moan. The noise made Clint straighten and look up with a wicked grin. Then he eased Phil's pants down, carefully stretching the waistband over his full, hard cock, and shoved them to Phil's ankles. With one last glance upwards, Clint leaned in and gave the underside of Phil's cock one long slow, wide lick. 

"Fuck." Phil breathed out shakily, fighting for control. He could feel Clint's grin as he went back to the cat-like rubbing, using his lips and nose and cheeks to caress Phil's hardon. Phil closed his eyes, needing a break from the incredibly erotic visual of Clint Barton worshiping his cock. With his eyes closed, however, the sensations were more intense. He felt warm, soft lips gently nibbling along the flare of the head, and then a hot wet tongue tracing the contour of the glans. Phil wasn't the least bit surprised that Clint's tongue was as nimble as the rest of him, and he put his other hand on Clint's shoulder, gripping to help hold himself upright on weak knees. 

Clint licked around the head again as if he was mapping it for future reference, pausing this time to tease the slit with the tip of his tongue. That drew another loud moan from Phil, which turned into a gasp as Clint drew the head into his mouth and sucked lightly, massaging the underside with his tongue.

"So good, Clint," Phil moaned. Because Clint deserved to know that he was making Phil crazy. "So very good." Phil gasped again as Clint slowly drew more and more into his mouth until Phil was completely enveloped in the wet heat. For a moment they were both perfectly still. Phil didn't dare move for fear of choking Clint, and Clint seemed to be taking a minute to adjust — or maybe just enjoy. Then Clint picked Phil's hand off his shoulder and moved it to his head. It was a pretty clear signal, but one Phil wasn't sure he wanted to follow. He did curl his fingers into Clint's hair, not tightly but holding on, and that made Clint moan around his cock. The sound sent a shudder through Phil. 

Clint swallowed around him, massaging the hard length with his throat muscles, and then began to bob just a little. Phil could feel the head of his cock hitting the back of Clint's throat, and it made him acutely aware of how much Clint trusted him, to give him this. Phil tightened his fists in Clint's hair, pulling just a tiny bit, wanting to give Clint something back. Clint moaned around his dick and swallowed again, and Phil knew he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. He tightened grip and held Clint's head still while he withdrew, pulling his cock out of the heat of Clint's mouth.

Clint wiped a dribble of spit from his lips and looked up.

"Something wrong?"

"No, not at all. That was incredible, but I don't want to come yet. At least not until I have you naked." That got a grin, and Clint scrambled to his feet and stripped off his jeans. Phil stepped out of his sweatpants and got the lube and a condom out of the bedside drawer. He barely had time to turn back around before Clint was kissing him again, coaxing Phil's tongue into his mouth so he could suck on it. Phil wrapped his arms around Clint and put one knee on the bed, urging them into a controlled tumble that ended up with Clint on top. 

"Hi there," Clint grinned. 

"Hi yourself." Phil smiled back.

"So, did you have anything specific in mind, or are you all out of ideas?"

"Oh, I've always got plenty of ideas about what to do with a gorgeous naked man in my bed. Any requests?"

Instead of answering, Clint surged downwards, blanketing Phil's body with his own, rocking their groins together again and kissing Phil as if he could never get enough. Phil slid one hand back into Clint's hair and gripped. Clint moaned into Phil's mouth, and his dick twitching against Phil's. Phil put his other hand on Clint's ass, kneading the firm muscle and using the leverage to thrust up into Clint's thigh. 

Clint's movements slowed to the same sensuous rhythm he'd used earlier on the sofa, and Phil matched him easily, their bodies moving together surely. Clint broke the kiss, gasping for breath, then buried his face in the crook of Phil's neck.

"You feel so good, Phil. So good. I want..." Clint went back to kissing, licking, nipping at Phil's throat as if he was afraid to ask.

"Anything, Clint. Anything you want." Phil meant it. He'd give Clint anything, now and always. 

"Just, oh God. Just want you to fuck me, Phil. Want you so much. Want to feel you inside me." Now that he'd started the words kept flooding out. "Fucking me long and hard. Taking me."

The words gasped into his ear ratcheted Phil's arousal up so high he forgot to breathe for a minute and ended up gasping for air. It felt like he'd been hard for hours. Like Clint's skin against his was burning through him, setting every nerve ending on fire. He wanted too. So goddam much. Phil wrapped his legs around Clint's, planted an elbow on the bed, and flipped them over, purposely landing heavily on top.

Clint moaned and stretched his head back, baring his throat. Phil took the invitation and nipped at the sensitive skin under Clint's jaw with his teeth, a sharp pinch, nothing more, but it made Clint shudder. 

"You want me to take you?" Phil growled into Clint's ear. "To fuck you long and hard?" 

"Yes. Fuck, Phil. Don't make me beg."

"I'm going to slide my hard cock as deep into you as I can get," Phil said before nipping at Clint's throat again and reaching for the lube. "Feel you all hot and tight around me. Fill you up so good." 

"God. Yes." Phil rolled them onto their sides, and Clint wrapped one leg around Phil's waist to give him easy access. "Don' need much prep. Jus' need you in me." Clint mumbled into Phil's neck.

Sure enough, two of Phil's lubed fingers slid in easily, so he withdrew them and added a third, pressing carefully against the slight resistance. He could feel Clint's impatience, so he took Clint's mouth in a deep, filthy kiss, making it clear that penetrating Clint's mouth with his tongue was a prelude. Phil twisted his fingers inside Clint, searching for and locating the smooth bump of his prostate, and stroked it. Clint moaned into his mouth, writhing against him. Phil was holding onto his control by his fingernails as Clint's movements became more frantic. He was gripping Phil's shoulder tightly enough to bruise. Phil didn't mind the bruises, he'd always felt that he shouldn't dish out anything he wasn't willing to take, but he couldn't hold himself in check any longer. He pulled his mouth away from Clint's and nipped at his throat one last time.

"Goin' to fuck you now. Fuck you hard," he said, his voice ragged. He pulled his fingers out of Clint's ass and wiped them on the sheet, then grabbed the condom from the bedside table. It took a few seconds of his attention to get it open and on and then to find the lube. By the time he was ready, Clint had moved himself into position. When Phil looked up, Clint was lying on his back, a pillow under his ass, his elbows hooked under his knees, spreading himself open wide and ready. 

"Fuck," said Phil at the sight.

"Yeah, come on, Phil, take me." 

Phil wondered briefly, silently, what he'd done in life to deserve the wonder in front of him. He moved between Clint's knees, snugging his shoulders up against the back of Clint's thighs to take their weight. He knew how flexible Clint was, so he pressed in close, folding Clint in half. His hard cock nudged Clint's slick ready hole, and Clint whined and shifted impatiently under him. 

"Phil," it was a desperate plea.

"Shh." Phil put one hand down on the mattress by Clint's shoulder and slid the other hand into his hair. Clint's eyes were locked on his, so wide and deep that Phil thought he might be looking into Clint's very soul. Phil pressed forward with his hips sliding slowly, ever so slowly into Clint's tight heat. Further and further in, until his groin was pressed up tight against Clint's ass. Clint's eyes fluttered shut.

"Fuck, Phil. So good. So fucking good."

"Yeah." Phil couldn't form anything more coherent. He desperately wanted to plunge wildly into Clint, driving into him hard, pounding him mercilessly, and though he knew Clint would wanted that too, he didn't want to shatter the moment just yet. He wished there was something he could say short of 'I love you' to give Clint some idea of how he felt. To confess at least part of what this meant to him. To bare his soul to the man under him, the man he trusted with everything that he was.

"Clint," he whispered, and Clint's eyes opened, staring up into his. Phil's throat closed up. He couldn't have gotten words out if he knew what to say. So he leaned forward, kissed Clint once, softly, and started to pound, finally letting himself take what Clint was offering him. Phil gave himself over to the pure animalistic lust that he'd kept bottled up for what felt like forever. That now had free reign as he thrust into Clint again and again, as hard as he could, to Clint's cries of 'Yes,' and 'Fuck,' and 'More,' and 'Phil'. He held on for as long as he could because he wanted this so much. Wanted to feel it, to experience it for every single second that he could, but it was too good. Too perfect, too much. Before he could shift to get a hand on Clint, he was coming, grunting out his release with one last hard thrust and shuddering to a stop. When he opened his eyes, Clint was staring up at him again, mouth open and panting, his hips twitching, one hand on Phil's arm, fingers digging into his bicep.

"Sorry," gasped, shifting his weight to pull out. Clint's hand flew from his arm to his ass.

"Don't. Please? I..." Clint glanced away for a moment, biting his lower lip, and then back up into Phil's eyes. "I want to come with you inside me."

Phil couldn't help but smile at that and leaned low to kiss Clint deeply. Clint sucked Phil's tongue into his mouth, and Phil let him have it as he untangled his fist from Clint's hair and slid it down Clint's sweat-slick flank to his hip, before curling it around his hard, leaking dick. 

"Yeah, oh God. Phil." Clint pulled away from the kiss gasp for air. "Just like that... just like... fuck." Phil felt Clint's dick twitch in his hand, felt the warm wetness coat his fingers. He moaned and leaned in to kiss Clint again, long and hard and deep to stop himself from blurting out something sappy and inappropriate. He pulled away from the kiss and out of Clint's ass, moving slowly so that Clint wouldn't think he was running away. He rolled onto his back and flailed for the box of tissues on the bedside table. Clint laughed and snagged it, holding it out to Phil before grabbing a couple of tissues for himself. Phil dropped his over the side of the bed, but Clint tossed his wadded-up bundle unerringly for the wastebasket in the corner of the room.

"Show off," Phil said with a fond grin. 

"You don't seem to mind," Clint answered with a smile of his own, and then he shifted so that he was curled up by Phil's side, his head cradled on Phil's chest. Then he went still, and looked up.

"Is, uh... is this okay?" 

Phil was confused by the question for a moment, until he realized Clint was asking if it was okay to snuggle even though it hadn't been a scene. 

"Of course it's okay," Phil said, wrapping his arms around Clint and kissing the top of his head. "Of course. Go to sleep." Clint snuggled closer and made a contented humming sound.

"Yeah. G'night Phil."

"Goodnight." Phil dropped one more kiss into Clint's hair and then laid back, sure that he was going to have trouble falling asleep himself. Questions about how Clint felt, what Clint might want, what he wanted, what this had meant, what he wanted it to mean, where (if anywhere) they went from here, were swirling around in his head. But the rhythm of Clint's breathing soothed him, and his mind drifted from his questions to the appreciation of Clint's warm skin and soft breath. To Clint's arm around his chest, holding him close. To how good it had felt to have Clint under him, wanting him. Wanting him, and not just the relief that a scene provided after a bad op, he hoped as he drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~

Phil woke early in the morning, like he always did. He was lying on his back and Clint had rolled over in the night and was on his side facing away but with his back pressed so close to Phil's side that his head was on the edge of Phil's pillow. There was no reason to get up. No reason to wake Clint yet. They had the day off after yesterday's successful op, and Phil wanted to enjoy having Clint in his bed for as long as he could. In his arms would be even better, so Phil eased himself onto his side, spooning behind Clint and draping one arm across Clint's broad chest. Clint mumbled something, and Phil held his breath when Clint moved, but all he did was press back against Phil's chest. Phil folded his other arm under his head, tucked his nose into the back of Clint's neck, and dozed. 

He surfaced again about an hour later, horny and hard. Clint's ass was pressed firmly against his cock, and it was all he could do to hold himself still rather than rocking into the smooth warm skin. Clint had wrapped an arm around his and was cradling it to his chest, so Phil couldn't move away without waking him. Not that he wanted to move away from Clint's magnificent body. Sunlight was filtering in through the curtains and casting Clint's form in a warm glow that took Phil's breath away. His cock was throbbing insistently and starting to ache, so Phil shifted, just a little, trying to ease the pressure somehow. But shifting even slightly against Clint's smooth ass felt so damn good. He rocked his hips forward the tiniest bit, and God, that felt even better. He shouldn't. Clint was asleep. He needed to pull away, roll over... He shifted again, this time trying to get leverage to ease his arm out of Clint's grip, but that pushed his hips forward again and... God. He could wake Clint up and ask... He could...

"Don' stop." 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Phil whispered, his lips brushing Clint's ear.

"Feels good. You don't have to stop," Clint said, and he took Phil's hand in his own and guided it down until Phil's fingers brushed a hard dick. Clint rocked his ass back against Phil's cock and then forward, pushing his dick into Phil's hand.

"Clint," Phil gasped.

"Don' need any more prep after last night," Clint said, continuing to rock his hips in a slow rhythm. "Just use a bit of lube, and you can slide right in. Fuck me long and slow, just like this." 

Phil was rocking against Clint, sliding his hard cock into the cleft of his ass. Clint's words turned him on so much that he was hardly thinking when he moved to find the lube and a condom. He located the lube easily but failed to find a condom in the bedside drawer. He had more. He knew he did. Bathroom cabinet, and first aid kit, and go-bag. His go-bag was closest, sitting just inside the bedroom door. Phil sighed, kissed the back of Clint's neck and eased away.

"Need to go get a condom. It'll just take me a second." Clint grabbed Phil's hand before he could take it off Clint's dick.

"I'm clean," he said quietly, "I and I guess you are too, 'cause you would have said something before now otherwise." Considering how many times they'd bled on each other in the course of a mission, Clint wasn't wrong about that. "So if you want..." Clint trailed off, seemingly waiting for Phil to say something, and then he tensed. "Unless there's, ah, someone else that you, ah..." Phil heard the note of sadness in Clint's voice and hated it. He pressed himself close against Clint and kissed the back of his neck again.

"No Clint, there's no one else. Just you." Clint relaxed in his arms and then rocked back against him. Phil hadn't had sex bareback since he was in college, and he barely remembered what it felt like. 

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hitching.

"Want to feel you, Phil." 

"God, you're amazing," Phil said, licking and nipping and kissing Clint's neck and jaw. Clint turned his head, caught Phil's lips and kissed him hungrily, shivering in anticipation when Phil opened the cap on the lube with a 'click'. 

Phil squeezed the bottle, not caring that as much ended up on the sheets as on his fingers. He slathered the lube first over his cock, biting his lip to keep from groaning at the sensation of the cool slickness on his hot, throbbing length. Then he swiped his hand between Clint's ass cheeks, spreading them open and letting his fingers dip into Clint's hole. Three slid in easily, Clint hadn't been exaggerating when he said he was loose enough. Phil shifted, sliding one arm under Clint's chest so that he could hold on tight, and draped himself over Clint's back, blanketing his body from shoulders to knees. Clint had one knee hitched up and his hips tilted a little so there was just enough space for Phil's hand to settle back on his dick.

"Tell me if I'm too heavy," he said into Clint's ear, and then slid into him, slow and easy. He felt rather than heard Clint's low rumbling moan.

"Perfect, Phil. That's perfect. Deep and slow. You're perfect." Clint's voice was low and rough and incredibly sexy. His body was warm and welcoming and felt so damn good under Phil's.

"Slow and deep," Phil said, setting up an easy, languorous rhythm with his hips, and moving his slick hand to slowly stroke Clint's dick. "Gonna give you just what you want. Anything you want, Clint."

Clint made a sound that may have been a gasp or may have been a sob, but he started to move in a slow rhythmic counterpoint to Phil, meeting his strokes and thrusting his dick into Phil's hand. For a long time they moved together. Phil put his lips to Clint's shoulder, and Clint laced his fingers through Phil's so that he was thrusting into their joined hands. 

Phil moaned. It felt incredible. Pushing slowly, again and again, into the slick heat of Clint's ass, the sensations incredibly heightened by the lack of barrier between them. Phil felt like every nerve ending was alight as he pressed himself closer to Clint's back, trying to get every single bit of skin contact he could. Clint's skin was intoxicating. Phil brushed his lips across Clint's shoulder, nibbled at his earlobe, licked broad stripes along the side of his neck... Gradually, their rhythm grew a little faster, a little stronger. The long, slow slide gave way to a smooth thrust. Clint gasped and moaned and made a host of other noises that drove Phil crazy. He scraped his teeth across Clint's shoulder, and Clint bucked against him.

"Fuck, Phil. Fuck me. Oh God, fuck me, please. Fuck me hard." Phil didn't need any more encouragement than Clint's begging. He put more power into his thrusts, giving way to the need that had been building. Giving himself over, letting himself sink into the sensuality of Clint's incredible body, the taut muscles, the silky-smooth skin that smelled so incredible - because it smelled of Clint. Phil put his lips to it again, and Clint gasped.

"Bite me. Please Phil. Want you to. Want to feel it. Want you. Please bite me, Phil."

Phil gave the skin under his lips a last lick and then bared his teeth, fastening them to the thick trapezius muscle, and bit down. Clint moaned, long and loud, and his ass spasmed tight on Phil's hard cock. Phil felt Clint's rhythm falter as he came, letting out a long vowel sound as his dick pumped into their joined hands. 

The feel of Clint's dick twitching and pulsing in his hand, the hot wetness on his fingers, Clint arching against him, muscles straining, the overwhelming sensuality of it all tipped Phil over the edge and he came, hard and gasping out Clint's name. He dropped his forehead onto Clint's shoulder and couldn't stop murmuring 'So good, Clint. So good,' into his ear.

They moved slowly, unclasping hands and wiping the stickiness on the sheets. Phil peeled himself away from Clint's back and eased out of his body, and then flopped, too spent to move. Clint grinned at him and handed him a couple of tissues. 

Rudimentary cleanup done, Phil rolled onto his side so that he could see Clint, who was watching him with a guarded expression.

"Thank you, that was amazing," Phil said and was rewarded with a brilliant smile.

"Yeah, it was pretty awesome. I... uh... So, uh... is this like a friends-with-benefits thing?" Clint finally got the words out and looked down at the sheets rather than holding Phil's eyes. 

"It - " Phil's voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "It could be, if that's what you want." Clint's eyes came back up to meet Phil's with questions in them, but he didn't speak. "Or it could be... Clint I care about you a great deal." Phil saw Clint's eyes shutter, and his body stiffened, as if he was getting ready to run. "I mean I... I love you, Clint." That got Phil a slightly more relaxed Clint and an easy smile.

"I know, I love you too. The whole, 'I'd do anything for you,' remember?" 

Phil couldn't help but smile back, even though he was also seriously considering knocking their heads together. 

"What I'm trying to say," he said, reaching out and laying one hand on Clint's hip because he hoped the contact would somehow make the words come more easily. "Is that if you want... I mean, if you're not opposed, I..." Phil made a frustrated noise. "It could be a relationship," he said. "If you..." he trailed off again, helplessly.

"Is that what you want? A relationship? With me?" Clint's eyes were wide, but at least he wasn't backing off.

"I like having you around. The sex is pretty great. I trust you. And... I love you. Not just in the 'I'd do anything for you' way. In the, ah, 'hearts and flowers' way, too." 

Clint's eyes went from wide, to all soft and a little bashful, and then to downcast.

"I, uh... I'm not very good at relationships. Like really, really terrible. I, uh, tend to spend a couple of months really confused then there's a screaming match and I'm not in a relationship any more. I don't want that to happen to us, so maybe it's better - "

Phil leaned forward and kissed him. 

"Anytime you're confused about something, you can ask me, and I promise not to scream. I'm willing to take the chance if you are," Phil said after he'd pulled just far enough away to be able to see Clint's eyes.

"Do you... Are you sure you really want to be with me?" Clint asked. His eyes had gone wide again, and there was wonder and a little bit of hope in them. Phil moved the hand that was resting lightly on Clint's hip up to cup the side of his face. He stroked his thumb gently along Clint's cheek, once.

"Yes," he said simply.

"I... If I uh, say 'yes,' then what... I mean what do we... What does..." Clint gave up.

"Where do we go from here?" Phil suggested.

"Yes. No. Sort of. What does it... look like? What do we, um, do?"

Phil wasn't sure he completely understood the question, but he tried to answer it anyway.

"We do whatever we want. Whatever works for us. For both of us. There isn't a set rules we have to follow."

"See, that's exactly what I mean. Any other time I've been in a relationship it always felt like there were a bunch of rules that I was supposed to know, but didn't, and I was fucking them up all the time. That's what led to the screaming matches, mostly."

"No screaming matches, I promise." Phil said, and couldn't help but lean in for another light kiss, trying to reassure Clint that he meant it. "Why don't you tell me what you'd want out of a relationship?"

"What I want? I... I guess I've never really thought about it. Not in general."

"Well, you don't have to think about it in general if the specifics are easier. What are some of the things you'd want out of a relationship with me?"

"You want me to like, list stuff?"

"Why not? It'll help us figure out if we're on the same page."

"Um, okay. Well, if we were in a relationship, then one thing I'd want is for us to have sex after good missions, too, as well as after bad ones," Clint said. It was the first thing he'd seemed sure of in a while.

"I would definitely be on board with sex after good missions," Phil said with a smile.

"And, um, we could continue doing, ah... the stuff we do after bad ones?" 

"Yes. I promised you that. I'll always be here for you when you need that from me, Clint, no matter what." Clint nodded as if that was one thing he was already secure about.

"I really liked coming home with you last night, for the pizza and beer and sex, I'd like to do that kinda regular, when we could."

"I liked it too. I'd like to go to your place sometimes too, if you're okay with that?"

"But why? Your place is so much nicer." Clint seemed to be genuinely confused.

"I like your place. It... it's your home. I like being in it, feeling like I'm welcome there. Like I belong there." Phil said softly, holding Clint's eyes.

"You really do love me," Clint said, shaking his head just a tiny bit as if to say that Phil was crazy for doing so.

"I really do."

"I, uh... I guess I love you too. That way. As well as the other way. I'm not just saying that 'cause you did. I've thought about it before now. You... No one's ever made me feel... good - not just physically, I mean — I mean, like, good about myself, the way you do." Clint stumbled his way through the confession, and Phil stroked his cheek again and leaned in for another kiss. 

"Um, I guess there should be some other stuff, some relationship stuff, that's not about sex, but I can't think... I mean, we work together, we eat together, I hang out in your office, that all stays the same, right?"

"I would want it to, yes," Phil said.

"Yeah, good. So what about you? What do you want?"

"I want to spend time with you outside of work when we can. I want the occasional lazy Sunday morning with me reading the paper and you watching cartoons or playing Xbox, just sharing each other's space. I..." Clint had a happy smile on his face and Phil was hesitant to bring up the next thing, "I'd like for us to fill in the forms at work. Make it official rather than sneak around, if you're okay with that."

"Sure, 'course, if you want to. While were doing that, can I put you down along with Nat as my next-of-kin on my medical stuff?" Phil's breath caught in his throat, and it was Clint turn to lean in and kiss him reassuringly. "Hey, don't go all gooey on me over that. I should have asked you before now anyway." 

"If we're going to be in a relationship, I get to go gooey on you sometimes," Phil said with a fond smile, then it faltered. He took a deep breath. "So, are we? Going to be in a relationship?"

"Yes," Clint said, looking him in straight the eyes and smiling. "It'd be pretty stupid not to, I guess, seeing as how we love each other and everything."

"That's not - " Phil started to say something, but Clint leaned in and kissed him.

"Yes, Phil I want to be with you. Yes, I want to be in a relationship with you. I love you and I trust you and it's worth taking the chance for you. I'll do my best not to screw it up." Phil pulled Clint into his arms and kissed him deeply. Something that had been tight in his chest since they started the discussion eased, and he felt like he could finally draw a full breath. After a few long minutes of kissing and nuzzling and smiling stupidly into each other's eyes, they ended up with Clint cuddled up against Phil with his head on Phil's shoulder. Phil felt warm and happy and relaxed and comfortable, so it took him a few minutes to realize that Clint was still tense. He kissed the top of Clint's head.

"Is there something bothering you?" he asked gently.

"No. Um, it's just... It's totally not a deal-breaker or anything, just... since we're talking about this kind of stuff anyway..." Clint wasn't quite mumbling his words into Phil's chest, but Phil had to strain to make them out clearly. He tightened his arms around Clint, wanting him to feel secure, wanting him to be able to talk about whatever it was.

"Um, earlier, when we were fucking and I asked you to bite me. Was that... were you okay with that?"

"Yes." Phil answered easily and quickly, "Both with biting you and with you asking," he said, just in case Clint needed to hear that as well. 

"Yeah. Good. So it'd be okay if, um... even when we're not doing a scene, it um, got a bit rough sometimes?" Clint lifted his head of Phil's shoulder and looked into his face. "Not all the time, just... I like it when you... I like it a little rough, and I like it when you're rough with me. I like... feeling that you..." Clint trailed off, and hid his face in Phil's shoulder.

"I like it too. I love that you trust me and you let me and you want me to be dominant with you sometimes. Not always. Sometimes I'm going to want it sweet and gentle." Clint nodded vigorously against Phil's shoulder.

"Yeah, me too. I mean, I've never... there's never been... Fuck." Clint shifted, getting an elbow under himself so that he could prop himself up and look Phil full in the face. "I've never wanted sweet and gentle before, but I want it with you. And I want rough, sometimes. I want bites and scratches and you holding me down to fuck me. I want to feel like you want me so much you can't control yourself, you can't slow down, you just need to take me." Clint's eyes were bright and Phil's heart sped up.

"Fuck, Clint, you say that and my cock is trying to get hard again. Emphasis, unfortunately, on the 'trying'." 

"Good." Clint kissed him, hard, then pulled away and looked into his face again. Phil reached up and slid his hand into Clint's hair, but didn't grip, just let the strands sift through his fingers. 

"I don't know if it's something you'd want, but in case it is, I want you to know that it could go both ways. If you ever want to be the one in charge, if you ever want to hold me down and fuck me, or leave some bites or scratches of your own. If you ever have a bad day and you want to take it out on my back with a flogger, I'm totally okay with that. I'm not asking you to if you don't want to, I'm just putting the offer on the table." 

Clint stared at him. "You'd let me do that," he said softly.

"I trust you. And I love you."

"Thank you. I don't know if I'll ever take you up on it, but... well, it means a lot." Clint's eyes were bright, and he dipped in to kiss Phil again. He pulled back grinning. "And I want to suck you off properly just as soon as possible."

Phil's stomach chose that moment to make him aware that it was a couple of hours past his usual breakfast time. They both laughed.

"So, I was thinking maybe we could take a shower, and then I could take my boyfriend out to breakfast," Clint said with a wide grin.

"Boyfriend, huh? Don't you think we're a bit too old?" 

"Got a better word? Lover? Snugglebunny? Main man?"

"Only man," Phil growled playfully, though he was completely serious.

"Shit yes," Clint said. "Partner?"

"I can live with partner, even though it makes us sound like a law firm," Phil smiled, throwing the covers off and sitting up.

"Coulson and Barton? It has a nice ring to it," Clint said.

"Barton and Coulson. Alphabetical." Phil grinned.

"You're such a nerd sometimes," Clint said, but he said it fondly. "Barton and Coulson. Partners." Clint had a sappy grin on his face, and Phil leaned in to kiss it. 

"Partners," he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my writing updates on my Tumblr blog: [ Jo Mathieson](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/)


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